DUD  YARD    KIPLING, 


B, 


By  the  way,  did 

you  know  that  Kipling  made  "Tommy  Atkins"?  Sir 
J  G«orge  Younghusband,  who  has  been  In  the  British  service 
for  forty  years,  declares  that  nobody  ever  heard  of 
"  Tommy  "  until  Kipling  made  Private  Mulvaney  and  the 
other  two  of  the  "Soldiers  Three"  talk  about  him.  He 
says  that  he  had  asked  innumerable  old  British  officers  If 
they  ever  heard  of  "  Tommy  Atkins  "  before  Kipling  wrote 
about  him,  and  they  all  agree  that  they  never  did.  Kip- 
ling ought  to  be  proud  of  his  handiwork,  don't  you  think? 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Soldiers  Three 

The  Story  of  the  Gadsbys 

In  Black  and  White 


HI 

RUDVARD    KIPLING 


Soldiers  Three 

The  Story  of  the  Gadsbys 

In  Black  and  White 


By 

Rudyard  Kipling 


Authorized  Edition 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1914 


COPYRIGHT,  1885, 

BY  MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 


COPYRIGHT,  1899, 
BY  RUDYARD  KIPLING 


Published  under  special  arrangement  with 

DODBLEDAY,   PAGE    &   Co. 


Collegia 

Library 


CONTENTS 


PASS 

PQB  GOD  FROM  THE  MACHINE 1 

OF  THOSE  CALLED 13 

PRIVATE  LEAROTD'S  STORY 17 

THE  BIG  DRUNK  DRAF' 28 

THE  WRECK  OF  THE  VISIGOTH 40 

THE  SOLID  MULDOON  .........45 

WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD 57 

IN  THE  MATTER  OF  A  PRIVATE   , 76 

BLACK  JACK 88 

POOR  DEAR  MAMMA     .........  Ill 

THE  WORLD  WITHOUT          ........  124 

THE  TENTS  OF  KEDAR 136 

WITH  ANY  AMAZEMENT 149 

THE  GARDEN  OF  EDEN 161 

FATIMA          . 173 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW    .......  188 

THE  SWELLING  OF  JORDAN  ........  200 

DRAY  WARA  Yow  DEE        .                  213 

THE  JUDGMENT  OK  DUNGARA       .......  226 

AT  HOWLI  THANA        .                  238 

GEMINI 245 

AT  TWENTY-TWO          .........  257 

IN  FLOOD  TIME 271 

THE  SENDING  OF  DANA  DA 283 

ON  THE  CITY  WALL     .  296 


1 


THE   GOD   FROM   THE   MACHINE 

Hit  a  man  an'  help  a  woman,  an'  ye  can't  be  far  wrong  anyways. 
—  Maxims  of  Private  Mulvaney. 

THE  Inexpressibles  gave  a  ball.  They  borrowed  a 
seven-pounder  from  the  Gunners,  and  wreathed  it  with 
laurels,  and  made  the  dancing-floor  plate-glass,  and 
provided  a  supper,  the  like  of  which  had  never  been 
eaten  before,  and  set  two  sentries  at  the  door  of  the 
room  to  hold  the  trays  of  programme-cards.  My  friend, 
Private  Mulvaney,  was  one  of  the  sentries,  because  he 
was  the  tallest  man  in  the  regiment.  When  the  dance 
was  fairly  started  the  sentries  were  released,  and  Pri- 
vate Mulvane}'  went  to  curry  favour  with  the  Mess 
Sergeant  in  charge  of  the  supper.  Whether  the  Mess 
Sergeant  gave  or  Mulvaney  took,  I  cannot  say.  All 
that  I  am  certain  of  is  that,  at  supper-time,  I  found 
Mulvaney  with  Private  Ortheris,  two-thirds  of  a  ham, 
a  loaf  of  bread,  half  a  pdtg-de-foie-gras,  and  two  mag- 
nums of  champagne,  sitting  on  the  roof  of  my  carriage. 
As  I  came  up  I  heard  him  saying  — 

'Praise  be  a  danst  doesn't  come  as  often  as  Ord'ly- 
room,  or,  by  this  an'  that,  Orth'ris,  me  son,  I  wud  be 
the  dishgrace  av  the  rig'mint  instid  av  the  brightest 
jool  in  uts  crown.' 

''Hand  the  Colonel's  pet  noosance,'  said  Ortheris. 
'But  wot  makes  you  curse  your  rations?  This  'ere 
lizzy  stuff's  good  enough. ' 


2  THE  GOD  FROM  THE  MACHINE 

'Stuff,  ye  oncivilised  pagin!  'Tis  champagne  we're 
dhrinkin'  now.  'Tisn't  that  I  am  set  ag'in.  ''Tis  this 
quare  stuff  wid  the  little  bits  av  black  leather  in  it.  I 
misdoubt  I  will  be  distressin'ly  sick  wid  it  in  the 
mornin'.  Fwhat  is  ut?' 

'Goose  liver,'  I  said,  climbing  on  the  top  of  the  car- 
riage, for  I  knew  that  it  was  better  to  sit  out  with 
Mulvaney  than  to  dance  many  dances. 

'Goose  liver  is  ut?'  said  Mulvaney.  *  Faith,  I'm 
thinkin'  thim  that  makes  it  wud  do  betther  to  cut  up 
the  Colonel.  He  carries  a  power  av  liver  undher  his 
right  arrum  whin  the  days  are  warm  an'  the  nights  chill. 
He  wud  give  thim  tons  an'  tons  av  liver.  'Tis  he  sez 
so.  "I'm  all  liver  to-day,"  sez  he;  an'  wid  that  he 
ordhers  me  ten  days  C.B.  for  as  moild  a  dhrink  as  iver 
a  good  sodger  tuk  betune  his  teeth. ' 

'That  was  when  'e  wanted  for  to  wash  'isself  in  the 
Fort  Ditch,'  Ortheris  explained.  'Said  there  was  too 
much  beer  in  the  Barrack  water-butts  for  a  God-fearing 
man.  You  was  lucky  in  gettin'  orf  with  wot  you  did, 
Mulvaney. ' 

'Say  you  so?  Now  I'm  pershuaded  I  was  cruel  hard 
trated,  seem'  fwhat  I've  done  for  the  likes  av  him  in 
the  days  whin  my  eyes  were  wider  opin  than  they  are 
now.  Man  alive,  for  the  Colonel  to  whip  me  on  the  peg 
in  that  way!  Me  that  have  saved  the  repitation  av  a 
ten  times  better  man  than  him!  'Twas  ne-farious  — 
an'  that  manes  a  power  av  evil ! ' 

'Never  mind  the  nef ariousness, '  I  said.  'Whose 
reputation  did  you  save  ? ' 

'More's  the  pity,  'twasn't  my  own,  but  I  tuk  more 
trouble  wid  ut  than  av  ut  was.  'Twas  just  my  way, 
messin'  wid  fwhat  was  no  business  av  mine.  Hear 


THE  GOD  FROM  THE   MACHINE  3 

now ! '  He  settled  himself  at  ease  on  the  top  of  the 
carriage.  'I'll  tell  you  all  about  ut.  Av  coorse  I  will 
name  no  names,  for  there's  wan  that's  an  orf'cer's  lady 
now,  that  was  in  ut,  and  no  more  will  I  name  places, 
for  a  man  is  thracked  by  a  place.' 

'Eyah!'  said  Ortheris  lazily,  'but  this  is  a  mixed 
story  wot's  comin'.' 

'Wanst  upon  a  time,  as  the  childer-books  say,  I  was 
a  recruity. ' 

'Was  you  though? '  said  Ortheris;  'now  that's  extry- 
ordinary ! ' 

'Orth'ris,'  said  Mulvaney,  'av  you  opin  thim  lips  av 
yours  again,  I  will,  savin'  your  presince,  Sorr,  take  you 
by  the  slack  av  your  trousers  an'  heave  you. ' 

'I'm  mum,'  said  Ortheris.  'Wot  'appened  when  you 
was  a  recruity? ' 

'I  was  a  betther  recruity  than  you  iver  was  or  will  be, 
but  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  Thin  I  became  a  man, 
an'  the  divil  of  a  man  I  was  fifteen  years  ago.  They 
called  me  Buck  Mulvaney  in  thim  days,  an',  begad, 
I  tuk  a  woman's  eye.  I  did  that!  Ortheris,  ye  scrub, 
fwhat  are  ye  sniggerin'  at?  Do  you  misdoubt  me? ' 

'Devil  a  doubt! '  said  Ortheris;  'but  I've  'eard  sum- 
mat  like  that  before ! ' 

Mulvaney  dismissed  the  impertinence  with  a  lofty 
wave  of  his  hand  and  continued  — 

'An'  the  orf'cers  av  the  rig'rnint  I  was  in  in  thim 
days  was  orf'cers  —  gran'  men,  wid  a  manner  on  'em, 
an'  a  way  wid  'em  such  as  is  not  made  these  days  —  all 
but  wan  —  wan  o'  the  capt'ns.  A  bad  dhrill,  a  wake 
voice,  an'  a  limp  leg  —  thim  three  things  are  the  signs 
av  a  bad  man.  You  bear  that  in  your  mind,  Orth'ris, 
me  sou. 


4  THE  GOD  FROM  THE   MACHINE 

4 An'  the  Colonel  av  the  rig'mint  had  a  daughter  — 
wan  av  thim  lamblike,  bleatin',  pick-me-up-an'-carry- 
me-or-I'll-die  gurls  such  as  was  made  for  the  natural 
prey  av  men  like  the  Capt'n,  who  was  iverlastin'  payin' 
coort  to  her,  though  the  Colonel  he  said  time  an'  over, 
"Kape  out  av  the  brute's  way,  my  dear."  But  he  niver 
had  the  heart  for  to  send  her  away  from  the  throuble, 
bein'  as  he  was  a  widower,  an'  she  their  wan  child.' 

'Stop  a  minute,  Mulvaney,'  said  I;  'how  in  the  world 
did  you  come  to  know  these  things? ' 

'How  did  I  come?'  said  Mulvaney,  with  a  scornful 
grunt;  'bekase  I'm  turned  durin'  the  Quane's  pleasure 
to  a  lump  av  wood,  lookin'  out  straight  forninst  me, 
wid  a  —  a  —  candelabbrum  in  my  hand,  for  you  to  pick 
your  cards  out  av,  must  I  not  see  nor  feel  ?  Av  coorse 
I  du!  Up  my  back,  an'  in  my  boots,  an'  in  the  short 
hair  av  the  neck  —  that's  where  I  kape  my  eyes  whin 
I'm  on  duty  an'  the  reg'lar  wans  are  fixed.  Know! 
Take  my  word  for  it,  Sorr,  ivrything  an'  a  great  dale 
more  is  known  in  a  rig'mint;  or  fwhat  wud  be  the  use 
av  a  Mess  Sargint,  or  a  Sargint's  wife  doin'  wet-nurse 
to  the  Major's  baby?  To  reshume.  He  was  a  bad 
dhrill  was  this  Capt'n  —  a  rotten  bad  dhrill  — an'  whin 
first  I  ran  me  eye  over  him,  I  sez  to  myself:  "  My  Militia 
bantam!"  I  sez,  "My  cock  av  a  Gosport  dunghill" 
'twas  from  Portsmouth  lie  came  to  us  —  "there's  combs 
to  be  cut,"  sez  I,  "an'  by  the  grace  av  God,  'tis  Terence 
Mulvaney  will  cut  thim." 

'So  he  wint  menowderin',  and  minanderin',  an'  blan- 
dandhering  roun'  an'  about  the  Colonel's  daughter,  an' 
she,  poor  innocint,  lookin'  at  him  like  a  Comm'ssariat 
bullock  looks  at  the  Comp'ny  cook.  He'd  a  dhirty  little 
scrub  av  a  black  moustache,  an'  lie  twisted  an'  turned 


THE  GOD  FROM  THE  MACHINE  5 

ivry  wurrd  he  used  as  av  he  found  ut  too  sweet  for  to 
spit  out.  Eyah!  He  was  a  tricky  man  an'  a  liar  by 
natur'.  Some  are  born  so.  He  was  wan.  I  knew  he 
was  over  his  belt  in  money  borrowed  from  natives; 
besides  a  lot  av  other  matthers  which,  in  regard  for  your 
presince,  Sorr,  I  will  oblitherate.  A  little  av  fwhat  I 
knew,  the  Colonel  knew,  for  he  wud  have  none  av  him, 
an'  that,  I'm  thinkin',  by  fwhat  happened  aftherwards, 
the  Capt'in  knew. 

'Wan  day,  bein'  mortial  idle,  or  they  wud  never  ha 
thried  ut,  the  rig'mint  gave  amsure  theatricals — orf'ceii 
an'  orf'cers'  ladies.  You've  seen  the  likes  time  an' 
agin,  Sorr,  an'  poor  fun  'tis  for  them  that  sit  in  the  back 
row  an'  stamp  wid  their  boots  for  the  honour  av  the 
rig'mint.  I  was  told  off  for  to  shif '  the  scenes,  haulin' 
up  this  an'  draggin'  down  that.  Light  work  ut  was, 
wid  lashins  av  beer  and  the  gurl  that  dhressed  the 
orf'cers'  ladies — but  she  died  in  Aggra  twelve  years 
gone,  an'  my  tongue's  gettin'  the  betther  av  me.  They 
was  actin'  a  play  thing  called  Sweethearts,  which  you 
may  ha'  heard  av,  an'  the  Colonel's  daughter  she  was  a 
lady's  maid.  The  Capt'n  was  a  boy  called  Broom  — 
Spread  Broom  was  his  name  in  the  play.  Thin  I  saw 
—  ut  come  out  in  the  actin'  —  fwhat  I  niver  saw  before, 
an'  that  was  that  he  was  no  gentleman.  They  was  too 
much  together,  thim  two,  a-whishperin'behind  the  scenes 
I  shifted,  an'  some  av  what  they  said  I  heard;  for  I  was 
death  —  blue  death  an'  ivy  —  on  the  comb-cuttin'.  He 
was  iverlastin'ly  oppressing  her  to  fall  in  wid  some 
sneakin'  schame  av  his,  an'  she  was  thryin'  to  stand  out 
against  him,  but  not  as  though  she  was  set  in  her  will. 
I  wonder  now  in  thim  days  that  my  ears  did  not  grow  a 
yard  on  me  head  wid  list'nin'.  But  I  looked  straight 


6  THE   GOD  FROM  THE  MACHINE 

forninst  me  an'  hauled  up  this  an'  dragged  down  that, 
such  as  was  my  duty,  an'  the  orf'cers'  ladies  sez  one  to 
another,  thinkin'  I  was  out  av  listen-reach:  "F what  an 
obligin'  young  man  is  this  Corp'ril  Mulvaney !  "  I  was 
a  Corp'ril  then.  I  was  rejuced  aftherwards,  but,  no 
matther,  I  was  a  Corp'ril  wanst. 

'Well,  this  Sweethearts1  business  wint  on  like  most 
amshure  theatricals,  an'  barrin'  fwhat  I  suspicioned, 
'twasn't  till  the  dhress-rehearsal  that  I  saw  for 
certain  that  thim  twc  —  he  the  blackguard,  an'  she 
no  wiser  than  she  should  ha'  been  —  had  put  up  an 
evasion.* 

*  A  what?'  said  I. 

'E-vasion!  Fwhat  you  call  an  elopemint.  E-vasion 
I  calls  it,  bekaze,  exceptin'  whin  'tis  right  an'  natural 
an'  proper,  'tis  wrong  an'  dhirty  to  steal  a  man's  wan 
child  she  not  knowin'  her  own  mind.  There  was  a 
Sargint  in  the  Comm'ssariat  who  set  my  face  upon 
e-vasions.  I'll  tell  you  about  that ' 

'Stick  to  the  bloomin'  Captains,  Mulvaney,'  said 
Ortheris;  'Comm'ssariat  Sargints  is  low.' 

Mulvaney  accepted  the  amendment  and  went  on :  — 

'Now  I  knew  that  the  Colonel  was  no  fool,  any  more 
than  me,  for  I  was  hild  the  smartest  man  in  the  rig'rnint, 
an*  the  Colonel  was  the  best  orf'cer  commandin'  in 
Asia;  so  fwhat  he  said  an'  /  said  was  a  mortial  truth. 
We  knew  that  the  Capt'n  was  bad,  but,  for  reasons  which 
I  have  already  oblitherated,  I  knew  more  than  me  Colo- 
nel. I  wud  ha'  rolled  out  his  face  wid  the  butt  av  my 
gun  before  permittin'  av  him  to  steal  the  gurl.  Saints 
knew  av  he  wud  ha'  married  her,  and  av  he  didn't  she 
wud  be  in  great  tormint,  an'  the  divil  av  a  "scandal." 
But  I  niver  sthruck,  niver  raised  me  hand  on  my  shu- 


THE   GOD  FROM  THE   MACHINE  7 

perior  orf'cer;  an'  that  was  a  merricle  now  I  come  to 
considher  it. ' 

'Mulvaney,  the  dawn's  risin','  said  Ortheris,  'an' 
we're  no  nearer  'ome  than  we  was  at  the  beginnin'. 
Lend  me  your  pouch.  Mine's  all  dust.' 

Mulvaney  pitched  his  pouch  over,  and  filled  his  pipe 
afresh. 

'So  the  dhress-rehearsal  came  to  an  end,  an',  bekaze 
I  was  curious,  I  stayed  behind  whin  the  scene-shiftin' 
was  ended,  an'  I  shud  ha'  been  in  barricks,  lyin'  as  flat 
as  a  toad  under  a  painted  cottage  thing.  They  was 
talkin'  in  whispers,  an'  she  was  shiverin'  an'  gaspin' 
like  a  fresh-hukked  fish.  "  Are  you  sure  you've  got  the 
hang  av  the  manewvers  ?"  sez  he,  or  wurrds  to  that  effec', 
as  the  coort-martial  sez.  " Sure  as  death,"  sez  she,  "but 
I  misdoubt  'tis  cruel  hard  on  my  father."  "  Damn  your 
father,"  sez  he,  or  anyways  'twas  fwhat  he  thought, 
"  the  arrangement  is  as  clear  as  mud.  Jungi  will  drive 
the  carri'ge  afther  all's  over,  an'  you  come  to  the  station, 
cool  an'  aisy,  in  time  for  the  two  o'clock  thrain,  where 
I'll  be  wid  your  kit."  "Faith,"  thinks  I  to  myself, 
"  thin  there's  a  ayah  in  the  business  tu  !  " 

4  A  powerful  bad  thing  is  a  ayah.  Don't  you  niver 
have  any  thruck  wid  wan.  Thin  he  began  sootherin 
her,  an'  all  the  orf'cers  an'  orf'cers'  ladies  left,  an'  they 
put  out  the  lights.  To  explain  the  theory  av  the  flight, 
as  they  say  at  Muskthry,  you  must  understand  that 
afther  this  Sweethearts'  nonsinse  was  ended,  there  was 
another  little  bit  av  a  play  called  Couples  —  some  kind 
av  couple  or  another.  The  gurl  was  actin'  in  this,  but 
not  the  man.  I  suspicioned  he'd  go  to  the  station  wid 
the  gurl's  kit  at  the  end  av  the  first  piece.  'Twas  the 
kit  that  flusthered  me,  for  I  knew  for  a  Capt'n  to  go 


8  THE   GOD  FROM  THE   MACHINE 

trapesing  about  the  impire  wid  the  Lord  knew  what  av 
a  truso  on  his  arrum  was  nefarious,  an'  wud  be  worse 
than  easin'  the  flag,  so  far  as  the  talk  aftherwards  wint. ' 

*'Old  on,  Mulvaney.     Wot's  truso?  '  said  Ortheris. 

'You're  an  oncivilised  man,  me  son.  Whin  a  gurl's 
married,  all  her  kit  an'  'coutrements  are  truso,  which 
manes  weddin '-portion.  An'  'tis  the  same  whin  she's 
runnin'  away,  even  wid  the  biggest  blackguard  on  the 
Arrmy  List. 

4 So  I  made  my  plan  av  campaign.  The  Colonel's 
house  was  a  good  two  miles  away.  "Dennis,"  sez  I  to 
my  colour-sargint,  "  av  you  love  me  lend  me  your  kyart, 
for  me  heart  is  bruk  an'  me  feet  is  sore  wid  trampin'  to 
and  from  this  foolishness  at  the  Gaff."  An'  Dennis 
lent  ut,  wid  a  rampin',  stampin'  red  stallion  in  the 
shafts.  Whin  they  was  all  settled  down  to  their 
Sweethearts  for  the  first  scene,  which  was  a  long  wan, 
I  slips  outside  and  into  the  kyart.  Mother  av  Hivin! 
but  I  made  that  horse  walk,  an'  we  came  into  the 
Colonel's  compound  as  the  divil  wint  through  Athlone 
—  in  standin'  leps.  There  was  no  one  there  excipt  the 
servints,  an'  I  wint  round  to  the  back  an'  found  the 
girl's  ayah. 

*"  Ye  black  brazen  Jezebel,''  sez  I,  "sellin'  your  mas- 
ther's  honour  for  five  rupees  —  pack  up  all  the  Miss 
Sahib's  kit  an*  look  slippy!  Captfn  Sahib's  order,"  sez 
I.  "  Going  to  the  station  we  are,"  I  sez,  an'  wid  that  1 
laid  my  finger  to  my  nose  an'  looked  the  schamin'  sin- 
ner I  was. 

*" Bote  acchy"  says  she;  so  I  knew  she  was  in  the 
business,  an'  I  piled  up  all  the  sweet  talk  I'd  iver 
learnt  in  the  bazars  on  to  this  she-bullock,  an'  prayed 
av  her  to  put  all  the  quick  she  knew  into  the  thing. 


THE   GOD  FROM  THE   MACHINE  9 

While  she  packed,  I  stud  outside  an'  sweated,  for  I  was 
wanted  for  to  shif  the  second  scene.  I  tell  you,  a 
young  gurl's  e-vasion  manes  as  much  baggage  as  a  rig'- 
mint  on  the  line  av  march!  "Saints  help  Dennis's 
springs,"  thinks  I,  as  I  bundled  the  stuff  into  the  thrap, 
"for  I'll  have  no  mercy!  " 

'"I'm  comin'  too,"  says  the  ayah. 

'"No,  you  don't,"  sez  I,  "later — pechy !  You  baito 
where  you  are.  I'll  pechy  come  an'  bring  you  sart, 
along  with  me,  you  maraudin'  "  —  niver  mind  fwhat  I 
called  her. 

'Thin  I  wint  for  the  Gaff,  an'  by  the  special  ordher 
av  Providence,  for  I  was  doin'  a  good  work  you  will 
ondersthand,  Dennis's  springs  hild  toight.  "Now, 
whin  the  Capt'n  goes  for  that  kit,"  thinks  I,  "he'll  be 
throubled."  At  the  end  av  Sweethearts  off  the  Capt'n 
runs  in  his  kyart  to  the  Colonel's  house,  an'  I  sits  down 
on  the  steps  and  laughs.  Wanst  an'  again  I  slipped  in 
to  see  how  the  little  piece  was  goin',  an'  whin  ut  was 
near  endin'  I  stepped  out  all  among  the  carriages  an' 
sings  out  very  softly,  "  Jungi ! "  Wid  that  a  carr'ge 
began  to  move,  an'  I  waved  to  the  dhriver.  "  HitJierao  !  " 
sez  I,  an'  he  hitheraoed  till  I  judged  he  was  at  proper 
distance,  an'  thin  I  tuk  him,  fair  an'  square  betune  the 
eyes,  all  I  knew  for  good  or  bad,  an'  he  dhropped  wid  a 
guggle  like  the  canteen  beer-engine  whin  ut's  runnin' 
low.  Thin  I  ran  to  the  kyart  an'  tuk  out  all  the  kit  an' 
piled  it  into  the  carr'ge,  the  sweat  runnin'  down  my 
face  indhrops.  "Go home,"  sez  I,  to  the  sais ;  "you'll 
find  a  man  close  here.  Very  sick  he  is.  Take  him 
away,  an'  av  you  iver  say  wan  wurrd  about  fwhat  you've 
dekkoed,  I'll  marrow  you  till  your  own  wife  won't  sumjao 
who  you  are!"  Thin  I  heard  the  stampin'  av  feet  at 


10         THE  GOD  FROM  THE  MACHINE 

the  ind  av  the  play,  an*  I  ran  in  to  let  down  the  cur- 
tain. Whin  they  all  came  out  the  gurl  thried  to  hide 
herself  behind  wan  av  the  pillars,  an'  sez  "  Jungi  "  in  a 
voice  that  wouldn't  ha'  scared  a  hare.  I  run  over  to 
Jungi's  carr'ge  an'  tuk  up  the  lousy  old  horse-blanket 
on  the  box,  wrapped  my  head  an'  the  rest  av  me  in  ut, 
an'  dhrove  up  to  where  she  was. 

'"Miss  Sahib,"  sez  I;  "going  to  the  station?  Cap- 
tain Sahib's  order!  "  an'  widout  a  sign  she  jumped  in 
all  among  her  own  kit. 

'I  laid  to  an'  dhruv  like  steam  to  the  Colonel's  house 
before  the  Colonel  was  there,  an'  she  screamed  an'  I 
thought  she  was  goin'  off.  Out  comes  the  ayah,  saying 
all  sorts  av  things  about  the  Capt'n  havin'  come  for  the 
kit  an'  gone  to  the  station.' 

' "  Take  out  the  luggage,  you  divil,"  sez  I,  "  or  I'll 
murther  you ! " 

'The  lights  av  the  thraps  people  comin'  from  the 
Gaff  was  showin'  across  the  parade  ground,  an',  by  this 
an'  that,  the  way  thim  two  women  worked  at  the  bundles 
an'  thrunks  was  a  caution !  I  was  dyin'  to  help,  but, 
seem'  I  didn't  want  to  be  known,  I  sat  wid  the  blanket 
roun'  me  an'  coughed  an'  thanked  the  Saints  there  was 
no  moon  that  night. 

'  Whin  all  was  in  the  house  again,  I  niver  asked  for 
bukshish  but  dhruv  tremenjus  in  the  opp'site  way  from 
the  other  carr'ge  an'  put  out  my  lights.  Presintly,  I 
saw  a  naygur  man  wallowin'  in  the  road.  I  slipped  down 
before  I  got  to  him,  for  I  suspicioned  Providence  was 
wid  me  all  through  that  night.  'Twas  Jungi,  his  nose 
smashed  in  flat,  all  dumb  sick  as  you  please.  Dennis's 
man  must  have  tilted  him  out  av  the  thrap.  Whin  he 
came  to,  "  Hutt  1 "  sez  I,  but  he  began  to  howl. 


THE   GOD  FROM   THE   MACHINE  H 

'"  You  black  lump  av  dirt,"  I  sez,  "  is  this  the  way  you 
dhrive  your  gharri?  That  tikka  has  been  owirC  an' 
fere-owm'  all  over  the  bloomin'  country  this  whole 
bloomin'  night,  an'  you  as  mut-walla  as  Davey's  sow. 
Get  up,  you  hog !  "  sez  I,  louder,  for  I  heard  the  wheels 
av  a  thrap  in  the  dark  ;  "  get  up  an'  light  your  lamps, 
or  you'll  be  run  into ! "  This  was  on  the  road  to  the 
Railway  Station. 

* "  Fwhat  the  divil's  this  ?  "  sez  the  Capt'n's  voice  in 
the  dhark,  an'  I  could  judge  he  was  in  a  lather  av  rage. 

4 "  Crharri  dhriver  here,  dhrunk,  Sorr,"  sez  I ;  "  I've 
found  his  gharri  sthrayin'  about  cantonmints,  an'  now 
I've  found  him." 

'"Oh!"  sez  the  Capt'n ;  "f  what's  his  name?"  I 
stooped  down  an'  pretended  to  listen. 

4 "  He  sez  his  name's  Jungi,  Sorr,"  sez  I. 

' "  Hould  my  harse,"  sez  the  Capt'n  to  his  man,  an' 
wid  that  he  gets  down  wid  the  whip  an'  lays  into  Jungi, 
lust  mad  wid  rage  an'  swearin'  like  the  scutt  he  was. 

4 1  thought,  afther  a  while,  he  wud  kill  the  man,  so  I 
sez  :  — 44  Stop,  Sorr,  or  you'll  murdher  him  I  "  That 
dhrew  all  his  fire  on  me,  an'  he  cursed  me  into  Blazes, 
an'  out  again.  I  stud  to  attenshin  an'  saluted :  — 
"Sorr,"  sez  I,  "av  ivry  man  in  this  wurruld  had  his 
rights,  I'm  thinkin'  that  more  than  wan  wud  be  beaten 
to  a  jelly  for  this  night's  work  —  that  niver  came  off  at 
all,  Sorr,  as  you  see?''  "Now,"  thinks  I  to  myself, 
44  Terence  Mulvaney,  you've  cut  your  own  throat,  for 
he'll  sthrike,  an'  you'll  knock  him  down  for  the  good  av 
his  sowl  an'  your  own  iverlastin'  dishgrace !  " 

4  But  the  Capt'n  never  said  a  single  wurrd.  He 
choked  where  he  stud,  an'  thin  he  went  into  his  thrap 
widout  sayin'  good-night,  an'  I  wint  back  to  barricks.' 


12         THE  GOD  FROM  THE  MACHINE 

'  And  then  ? '  said  Ortheris  and  I  together. 

'  That  was  all,'  said  Mulvaney ;  '  niver  another  word 
did  I  hear  av  the  whole  thing.  All  I  know  was  that 
there  was  no  e-vasion,  an'  that  was  fwhat  I  wanted. 
Now,  I  put  ut  to  you,  Sorr,  is  ten  days'  C.B.  a  fit  an' 
a  proper  tratement  for  a  man  who  has  behaved  as  me  ? ' 

'Well,  any'ow,'  said  Ortheris,  'tweren't  this  'ere 
Colonel's  daughter,  an'  you  was  blazin'  copped  when 
you  tried  to  wash  in  the  Fort  Ditch.' 

'  That,'  said  Mulvaney,  finishing  the  champagne,  *  is  a 
shuparfluous  an'  impert'nint  observation.' 


OF  THOSE   CALLED1 

WE  were  wallowing  through  the  China  Seas  in  a 
dense  fog,  the  horn  blowing  every  two  minutes  for  the 
benefit  of  the  fishery  craft  that  crowded  the  waterways. 
From  the  bridge  the  fo'c'sle  was  invisible ;  from  the 
hand-wheel  at  the  stern  the  captain's  cabin.  The  fog 
held  possession  of  everything  —  the  pearly  white  fog. 
Once  or  twice  when  it  tried  to  lift,  we  saw  a  glimpse  of 
the  oily  sea,  the  flitting  vision  of  a  junk's  sail  spread  in 
the  vain  hope  of  catching  the  breeze,  or  the  buoys  of  a 
line  of  nets.  Somewhere  close  to  us  lay  the  land,  but 
it  might  have  been  the  Kurile  Islands  for  aught  we 
knew.  Very  early  in  the  morning  there  passed  us,  not 
a  cable's-length  away,  but  as  unseen  as  the  spirits  of 
the  dead,  a  steamer  of  the  same  line  as  ours.  She 
howled  melodiously  in  answer  to  our  bellowing,  and 
passed  on. 

4  Suppose  she  had  hit  us,'  said  a  man  from  Saigon. 
'•  Then  we  should  have  gone  down,'  answered  the  chief 
officer  sweetly.  4 'Beastly  thing  to  go  down  in  a  fog,' 
said  a  young  gentleman  who  was  travelling  for  pleas- 
ure. 4  Chokes  a  man  both  ways,  y'  know.'  We  were 
comfortably  gathered  in  the  smoking-room,  the  weather 
being  too  cold  to  venture  on  the  deck.  Conversation 
naturally  turned  upon  accidents  of  fog,  the  horn  toot- 
ing significantly  in  the  pauses  between  the  tales.  I 

^Copyright,  1S95.  by  MACMILL^N  &  Co. 

13 


14  OF   THOSE   CALLED 

heard  of  the  wreck  of  the  Eric,  the  cutting  down  of 
the  Strathnairn  within  half  a  mile  of  harbour,  and  the 
carrying  away  of  the  bow  plates  of  the  Sigismund  out- 
side Sandy  Hook. 

*  It  is  astonishing,'  said  the  man  from  Saigon,  'how 
many  true  stories  are  put  down  as  sea  yarns.  It  makes 
a  man  almost  shrink  from  telling  an  anecdote.' 

'Oh,  please  don't  shrink  on  our  account,'  said  the 
smoking-room  with  one  voice. 

'  It's  not  my  own  story,'  said  the  man  from  Saigon. 
'  A  fellow  on  a  Massageries  boat  told  it  me.  He  had 
been  third  officer  of  a  sort  on  a  Geordie  tramp  —  one  of 
those  lumbering,  dish-bottomed  coal-barges  where  the 
machinery  is  tied  up  with  a  string  and  the  plates  are 
rivetted  with  putty.  The  way  he  told  his  tale  was 
this.  The  tramp  had  been  creeping  along  some  sea  or 
other  with  a  chart  ten  years  old  and  the  haziest  sort  of 
chronometers  when  she  got  into  a  fog — just  such  a  fog 
as  we  have  now.' 

Here  the  smoking-room  turned  round  as  one  man, 
and  looked  through  the  windows. 

'In  the  man's  own  words,  "just  when  the  fog  was 
thickest,  the  engines  broke  down.  They  had  been  doing 
this  for  some  weeks,  and  we  were  too  weary  to  care.  I 
went  forward  of  the  bridge,  and  leaned  over  the  side, 
wondering  where  I  should  ever  get  something  that  I 
could  call  a  ship,  and  whether  the  old  hulk  would  fall 
to  pieces  as  she  lay.  The  fog  was  as  thick  as  any 
London  one,  but  as  white  as  steam.  While  they  were 
tinkering  at  the  engines  below,  I  heard  a  voice  in  the 
fog  about  twenty  yards  from  the  ship's  side,  calling 
out,  '  Can  you  climb  on  board  if  we  throw  you  a  rope?' 
That  startled  me,  because  I  fancied  we  were  going  to 


OF  THOSE   CALLED  15 

be  run  down  the  next  minute  by  a  ship  engaged  in  res* 
cuing  a  man  overboard.  I  shouted  for  the  engine-room 
whistle;  and  it  whistled  about  five  minutes,  but  never 
the  sound  of  a  ship  could  we  hear.  The  ship's  boy 
came  forward  with  some  biscuit  for  me.  As  he  put  it 
into  my  hand,  I  heard  the  voice  in  the  fog,  crying  out 
about  throwing  us  a  rope.  This  time  it  was  the  boy 
that  yelled,  '  Ship  on  us  ! '  and  off  went  the  whistle 
again,  while  the  men  in  the  engine-room  —  it  generally 
took  the  ship's  crew  to  repair  the  ITespa's  engines  — 
tumbled  upon  deck  to  know  what  we  were  doing.  I 
told  them  about  the  hail,  and  we  listened  in  the  smother 
of  the  fog  for  the  sound  of  a  screw.  We  listened  for 
ten  minutes,  then  we  blew  the  whistle  for  another  ten. 
Then  the  crew  began  to  call  the  ship's  boy  a  fool,  mean- 
ing that  the  third  mate  was  no  better.  When  they 
were  going  down  below,  I  heard  the  hail  the  third  time, 
so  did  the  ship's  boy.  'There  you  are,'  I  said,  'it  is 
not  twenty  yards  from  us.'  The  engineer  sings  out, 
'  I  heard  it  too  !  Are  you  all  asleep  ? '  Then  the 
crew  began  to  swear  at  the  engineer;  and  what  with 
discussion,  argument,  and  a  little  swearing,  —  for  there 
is  not  much  discipline  on  board  a  tramp,  —  we  raised 
such  a  row  that  our  skipper  came  aft  to  enquire.  I, 
the  engineer,  and  the  ship's  boy  stuck  to  our  tale. 
'  Voices  or  no  voices,'  said  the  captain,  '  you'd  better 
patch  the  old  engines  up,  and  see  if  you've  got  enough 
steam  to  whistle  with.  I've  a  notion  that  we've  got 
into  rather  too  crowded  ways.' 

'  "  The  engineer  stayed  on  deck  while  the  men  went 
down  below.  The  skipper  hadn't  got  back  to  the 
chart-room  before  I  saw  thirty  feet  of  bowsprit  hang- 
ing over  the  break  of  the  fo'c'sle.  Thirty  feet  of 


16  OF  THOSE  CALLED 

bowsprit,  sir,  doesn't  belong  to  anything  that  sails  the 
seas  except  a  sailing-ship  or  a  man-of-war.  I  specu- 
lated quite  a  long  time,  with  my  hands  on  the  bul- 
warks, as  to  whether  our  friend  was  soft  wood  or  steel 
plated.  It  would  not  have  made  much  difference  to  us, 
anyway;  but  I  felt  there  was  more  honour  in  being 
rammed,  you  know.  Then  I  knew  all  about  it.  It 
was  a  ram.  We  opened  out.  I  am  not  exaggerating 
—  we  opened  out,  sir,  like  a  cardboard  box.  The  other 
ship  cut  us  two-thirds  through,  a  little  behind  the  break 
of  the  fo'c'sle.  Our  decks  split  up  lengthways.  The 
mizzen-mast  bounded  out  of  its  place,  and  we  heeled 
over.  Then  the  other  ship  blew  a  fog-horn.  I  remem- 
ber thinking,  as  I  took  water  from  the  port  bulwark, 
that  this  was  rather  ostentatious  after  she  had  done  all 
the  mischief.  After  that,  I  was  a  mile  and  a  half  under 
sea,  trying  to  go  to  sleep  as  hard  as  I  could.  Some 
one  caught  hold  of  my  hair,  and  waked  me  up.  I  was 
hanging  to  what  was  left  of  one  of  our  boats  under  the 
lee  of  a  large  English  ironclad.  There  were  two  men 
with  me;  the  three  of  us  began  to  yell.  A  man  on  the 
ship  sings  out,  '  Can  you  climb  on  board  if  we  throw 
you  a  rope  ?  '  They  weren't  going  to  let  down  a  fine 
new  man-of-war's  boat  to  pick  up  three  half-drowned 
rats.  We  accepted  the  invitation.  We  climbed  —  I, 
the  engineer,  and  the  ship's  boy.  About  half  an  hour 
later  the  fog  cleared  entirely;  except  for  the  half  of 
the  boat  away  in  the  offing,  there  was  neither  stick  nor 
string  on  the  sea  to  show  that  the  Hespa  had  been  cut 
down." 

4  And  what  do  you  think  of   that  now  ? '    said  the 
man  from  Saigon. 


PRIVATE   LEAROYD'S   STORY 

And  he  told  a  tale.  —  Chronicles  of  Gautama  Buddha. 

FAE  from  the  haunts  of  Company  Officers  who  insist 
upon  kit-inspections,  far  from  keen-nosed  Sergeants  who 
sniff  the  pipe  stuffed  into  the  bedding-roll,  two  miles 
from  the  tumult  of  the  barracks,  lies  the  Trap.  It  is 
an  old  dry  well,  shadowed  by  a  twisted  pipal  tree  and 
fenced  with  high  grass.  Here,  in  the  years  gone  by, 
did  Private  Ortheris  establish  his  depot  and  menagerie 
for  such  possessions,  dead  and  living,  as  could  not  safely 
be  introduced  to  the  barrack-room.  Here  were  gathered 
Houdin  pullets,  and  fox-terriers  of  undoubted  pedigree 
and  more  than  doubtful  ownership,  for  Ortheris  was  an 
inveterate  poacher  and  pre-eminent  among  a  regiment 
of  neat-handed  dog-stealers. 

Never  again  will  the  long  lazy  evenings  return  wherein 
Ortheris,  whistling  softly,  moved  surgeon-wise  among 
the  captives  of  his  craft  at  the  bottom  of  the  well ; 
when  Learoyd  sat  in  the  niche,  giving  sage  counsel 
on  the  management  of  'tykes,  and  Mulvaney,  from  the 
crook  of  the  overhanging  pipal*  waved  his  enormous 
boots  in  benediction  above  our  heads,  delighting  us 
with  tales  of  Love  and  War,  and  strange  experiences 
of  cities  and  men. 

Ortheris  —  landed  at  last  in  the  4  little  stuff  bird-shop ' 
for  which  your  soul  longed;  Learoyd  —  back  again  in 
the  smoky,  stone-ribbed  North,  amid  the  clang  of  the 
c  17 


18  PRIVATE  LEAROYD'S  STORY 

Bradford  looms  ;  Mulvaney  —  grizzled,  tender,  and  very 
wise  Ulysses,  sweltering  on  the  earthwork  of  a  Central 
India  line  —  judge  if  I  have  forgotten  old  days  in  the 
Trap  I 

Orth'ris,  as  allus  thinks  he  knaws  more  than  other 
foaks,  said  she  wasn't  a  real  laady,  but  nobbut  a  Hew- 
rasian.  I  don't  gainsay  as  her  culler  was  a  bit  doosky 
like.  But  she  was  a  laady.  Why,  she  rode  iv  a  carriage, 
an'  good  'osses,  too,  an'  her  'air  was  that  oiled  as  you 
could  see  your  faice  in  it,  an'  she  wore  dimond  rings  an' 
a  goold  chain,  an'  silk  an'  satin  dresses  as  mun  'a'  cost 
a  deal,  for  it  isn't  a  cheap  shop  as  keeps  enough  o'  one 
pattern  to  fit  a  figure  like  hers.  Her  name  was  Mrs. 
DeSussa,  an'  t'  waay  I  coom  to  be  acquainted  wi'  her 
was  along  of  our  Colonel's  Laady's  dog  Rip. 

I've  seen  a  vast  o'  dogs,  but  Rip  was  t'  prettiest  picter 
of  a  cliver  fox-tarrier  'at  iver  I  set  eyes  on.  He  could 
do  owt  you  like  but  speeak,  an'  t'  Colonel's  Laady  set 
more  store  by  him  than  if  he  hed  been  a  Christian. 
She  hed  bairns  of  her  awn,  but  they  was  i'  England, 
and  Rip  seemed  to  get  all  t'  coodlin'  and  pettin'  as  be- 
longed to  a  bairn  by  good  right. 

But  Rip  were  a  bit  on  a  rover,  an'  hed  a  habit  o' 
breakin'  out  o'  barricks  like,  and  trottin'  round  t'  plaice 
as  if  he  were  t'  Cantonment  Magistrate  coom  round 
inspectin'.  The  Colonel  leathers  him  once  or  twice, 
but  Rip  didn't  care  an'  kept  on  gooin'  his  rounds,  wi' 
his  taail  a-waggin'  as  if  he  were  flag-signallm'  to  t' 
world  at  large  'at  he  was  '  gettin'  on  nicely,  thank  yo', 
and  how's  yo'sen  ? '  An'  then  t'  Colonel,  as  was  noa 
sort  of  a  hand  wi'  a  dog,  tees  him  oop.  A  real  clipper 
of  a  dog,  an'  it's  noa  wonder  yon  laady,  Mrs.  DeSussa, 


FKIVATE   LEAKOYD'S   STORY  19 

should  tek  a  fancy  tiv  him.  Theer's  one  o'  t'  Ten  Com- 
mandments says  yo  maun't  cuvvet  your  neebor's  ox  nor 
his  jackass,  but  it  doesn't  say  nowt  about  his  tarrier 
dogs,  an'  happen  thot's  t'  reason  why  Mrs.  DeSussa 
cuvveted  Rip,  tho'  she  went  to  church  reg'lar  along  wi' 
her  husband  who  was  so  mich  darker  'at  if  he  hedn't 
such  a  good  coaat  tiv  his  back  yo'  might  ha'  called  him 
a  black  man  and  nut  tell  a  lee  nawther.  They  said  he 
addled  his  brass  i'  jute,  an'  he'd  a  rare  lot  on  it. 

Well,  you  seen,  when  they  teed  Rip  up,  t'  poor  awd 
lad  didn't  enjoy  very  good  'elth.  So  t'  Colonel's  Laady 
sends  for  me  as  'ad  a  naame  for  bein'  knowledgeable 
about  a  dog,  an'  axes  what's  ailin'  wi'  him. 

'  Why,'  says  I,  '  he's  getten  t'  mopes,  an'  what  he 
wants  is  his  libbaty  an'  coompany  like  t'  rest  on  us , 
wal  happen  a  rat  or  two  'ud  liven  him  oop.  It's  low, 
mum,'  says  I,  '  is  rats,  but  it's  t'  nature  of  a  dog ;  an* 
soa's  cuttin'  round  an'  meetin'  another  dog  or  two  an' 
passin'  t'  time  o'  day,  an'  hevvin'  a  bit  of  a  turn-up  wi' 
him  like  a  Christian.' 

So  she  says  her  dog  maunt  niver  fight  an'  noa  Chris- 
tians iver  fought. 

*  Then  what's  a  soldier  for?'  says  I;  an'  I  explains 
to  her  t'  contrairy  qualities  of  a  dog,  'at,  when  yo'  coom 
to  think  on't,  is  one  o'  t'  curusest  things  as  is.  For 
they  larn  to  behave  theirsens  like  gentlemen  born,  fit 
for  t'  f ost  o'  coompany  —  they  tell  me  t'  Widdy  herself 
is  fond  of  a  good  dog  and  knaws  one  when  she  sees  it 
as  well  as  onny  body:  then  on  t'  other  hand  a-tewin' 
round  after  cats  an'  gettin'  mixed  oop  i'  all  manners  o' 
blackguardly  street-rows,  an'  killin'  rats,  an'  fightin'  like 
divils. 

T'  Colonel's  Laady  soys  :  — '  Well,  Learoyd,  I  doan't 


20  PRIVATE  LEAROYD'S  STORY 

agree  wi'  you,  but  you're  right  in  a  way  o'  speeakin',  an* 
I  should  like  yo'  to  tek  Rip  out  a-walkin'  wi'  you  some- 
times ;  but  yo'  maun't  let  him  fight,  nor  chase  cats,  nor 
do  nowt  'orrid  ' :  an'  them  was  her  very  wods. 

Soa  Rip  an'  me  gooes  out  a-walkin'  o'  evenin's,  he  bein' 
a  dog  as  did  credit  tiv  a  man,  an'  I  catches  a  lot  o'  rats 
an'  we  hed  a  bit  of  a  match  on  in  an  awd  dry  swimmin'- 
bath  at  back  o'  t'  cantonments,  an'  it  was  none  so  long 
afore  he  was  as  bright  as  a  button  again.  He  hed  a 
way  o'  flyin'  at  them  big  yaller  pariah  dogs  as  if  he  was 
a  harrow  offan  a  bow,  an'  though  his  weight  were  nowt, 
he  tuk  'em  so  suddint-like  they  rolled  over  like  skittles 
in  a  halley,  an'  when  they  coot  he  stretched  after  'em  as 
if  he  were  rabbit-runnin'.  Saame  with  cats  when  he 
cud  get  t'  cat  agaate  o'  runnin'. 

One  evenin',  him  an'  me  was  trespassin'  ovver  a 
compound  wall  after  one  of  them  mongooses  'at  he'd 
started,  an'  we  was  busy  grubbin'  round  a  prickle-bush, 
an'  when  we  looks  up  there  was  Mrs.  DeSussa  wi'  a 
parasel  ovver  her  shoulder,  a-watchin'  us.  '  Oh  my ! ' 
she  sings  out ;  '  there's  that  lovelee  dog !  Would  he 
let  me  stroke  him,  Mister  Soldier  ? ' 

'  Ay,  he  would,  mum,'  sez  I,  4  for  he's  fond  o'  laady's 
coompany.  Coom  here,  Rip,  an'  speeak  to  this  kind 
laady.'  An'  Rip,  seein'  'at  t'  mongoose  hed  getten 
clean  awaay,  cooms  up  like  t'  gentleman  he  was,  nivver 
a  hauporth  shy  or  okkord. 

4  Oh,  you  beautiful  —  you  prettee  dog  ! '  she  says, 
clippin'  an'  chantin'  her  speech  in  a  way  them  sooart 
has  o'  their  awn  ;  '  I  would  like  a  dog  like  j'ou.  You 
are  so  verree  lovelee  —  so  awf ullee  prettee,'  an'  all  thot 
sort  o'  talk,  'at  a  dog  o'  sense  mebbe  thinks  nowt  on, 
tho'  he  bides  it  by  reason  o'  his  breedin'. 


PRIVATE  LEAROTD'S  STORY  21 

An'  then  I  meks  him  joomp  ovver  my  swagger-cane, 
an'  shek  hands,  an'  beg,  an'  lie  dead,  an'  a  lot  o'  them 
tricks  as  laadies  teeaches  dogs,  though  I  doan't  hand 
with  it  mysen,  for  it's  makin'  a  fool  o'  a  good  dog  to  do 
such  like. 

An'  at  lung  length  it  cooms  out  'at  she'd  been 
thrawin'  sheep's  eyes,  as  t'  sayin'  is,  at  Rip  for  many 
a  day.  Yo'  see,  her  childer  was  grown  up,  an'  she'd 
nowt  mich  to  do,  an'  were  allus  fond  of  a  dog.  Soa 
she  axes  me  if  I'd  tek  somethin'  to  dhrink.  An'  we 
goes  into  t'  drawn-room  wheer  her  'usband  was  a-settin'. 
They  meks  a  gurt  fuss  ovver  t'  dog  an'  I  has  a  bottle  o' 
aale,  an'  he  gave  me  a  handful  o'  cigars. 

Soa  I  coomed  away,  but  t'  awd  lass  sings  out  —  *  Oh, 
Mister  Soldier,  please  coom  again  and  bring  that  prettee 
dog.' 

I  didn't  let  on  to  t'  Colonel's  Laady  about  Mrs. 
DeSussa,  and  Rip,  he  says  nowt  nawther;  an'  I  gooes 
again,  an'  ivry  time  there  was  a  good  dhrink  an'  a 
handful  o'  good  smooaks.  An'  I  telled  t'  awd  lass  a 
heeap  more  about  Rip  than  I'd  ever  heeared ;  how  he 
tuk  t'  fost  prize  at  Lunnon  dog-show  and  cost  thotty- 
three  pounds  fower  shillin'  from  t'  man  as  bred  him ;  'at 
his  own  brother  was  t'  propputty  o'  t'  Prince  o'  Wailes, 
an'  'at  he  had  a  pedigree  as  long  as  a  Book's.  An'  she 
lapped  it  all  oop  an'  were  niver  tired  o'  admirin'  him. 
But  when  t'  awd  lass  took  to  givin'  me  money  an'  I 
seed  'at  she  were  gettin'  fair  fond  about  t'  dog,  I  began 
to  suspicion  summat.  Onny  body  may  give  a  soldier  t' 
price  of  a  pint  in  a  friendly  way  an'  theer's  no  'arm 
done,  but  when  it  cooms  to  five  rupees  slipt  into  your 
hand,  sly  like,  why,  it's  what  t'  'lectioneerin'  fellows 
bribery  an'  corruption.  Specially  when  Mrs.  De- 


22  PRIVATE   LEAROYD'S  STORY 

Sussa  threwed  hints  how  t'  cold  weather  would  soon  be 
ovver  an'  she  was  goin'  to  Munsooree  Pahar  an'  we  was 
goin'  to  Rawalpindi,  an'  she  would  niver  see  Rip  any 
more  onless  somebody  she  knowed  on  would  be  kind  tiv 
her. 

Soa  I  tells  Mulvaney  an'  Ortheris  all  t'  taale  thro', 
beginnin'  to  end. 

'  'Tis  larceny  that  wicked  ould  laady  manes,'  says  't 
Irishman,  '  'tis  felony  she  is  sejuicin'  ye  into,  my  frind 
Learoyd,  but  I'll  purtect  your  innocince.  I'll  save  ye 
from  the  wicked  wiles  av  that  wealthy  ould  woman,  an' 
I'll  go  wid  ye  this  evenin'  and  spake  to  her  the  wurrds 
av  truth  an'  honesty.  But  Jock,'  says  he,  waggin'  his 
heead,  *  'twas  not  like  ye  to  kape  all  that  good  dhrink 
an'  thim  fine  cigars  to  yerself,  while  Orth'ris  here  an' 
me  have  been  prowlin'  round  wid  throats  as  dry  as 
lime-kilns,  and  nothin'  to  smoke  but  Canteen  plug. 
4  'Twas  a  dhirty  thrick  to  play  on  a  comrade,  for  why 
should  you,  Learoyd,  be  balancin'  yourself  on  the  butt 
av  a  satin  chair,  as  if  Terence  Mulvaney  was  not  the 
aquil  av  anybody  who  thrades  in  jute  ! ' 

'Let  alone  me,'  sticks  in  Orth'ris,  'but  that's  like 
life.  Them  wot's  really  fitted  to  decorate  society  get  no 
show  while  a  blunderin'  Yorkshireman  like  you  - 

'Nay,'  says  I,  'it's  none  o'  t'  blunderin'  Yorkshire- 
man she  wants;  it's  Rip.  He's  t'  gentleman  this 
journey.' 

Soa  t'  next  day,  Mulvaney  an'  Rip  an'  me  goes  to 
Mrs.  DeSussa's,  an'  t'  Irishman  bein'  a  strainger  she 
wor  a  bit  shy  at  fost.  But  yo've  heeard  Mulvaney 
talk,  an  yo'  may  believe  as  he  fairly  bewitched  t'  awd 
lass  wal  she  1st  out  'at  she  wanted  to  tek  Rip  away  wi' 
her  to  Munsooree  Pahar.  Then  Mulvaney  changes  his 


PRIVATE  LEAROYD'S  STORY  23 

tune  an'  axes  her  solemn-like  if  she'd  thought  o'  t'  con- 
sequences o'  gettin'  two  poor  but  honest  soldiers  sent  t' 
Andamning  Islands.  Mrs.  DeSussa  began  to  cry,  so 
Mulvaney  turns  round  oppen  t'  other  tack  and  smooths 
her  down,  allowin'  'at  Rip  ud  be  a  vast  better  off  in  t' 
Hills  than  down  i'  Bengal,  and  'twas  a  pity  he  shouldn't 
go  wheer  he  was  so  well  beliked.  And  soa  he  went  on, 
baekin'  an'  fillin'  an'  workin'  up  t'  awd  lass  wal  she  felt 
as  if  her  life  warn't  worth  nowt  if  she  didn't  hev  t' 
dog. 

Then  all  of  a  suddint  he  says :  —  '  But  ye  shall  have 
him,  marm,  for  I've  a  feelin'  heart,  not  like  this  could- 
blooded  Yorkshireman ;  but  'twill  cost  ye  not  a  penny 
less  than  three  hundher  rupees.' 

'Don't  yo'  believe  him,  mum,'  says  I;  't'  Colonel's 
Laady  wouldn't  tek  five  hundred  for  him.' 

4  Who  said  she  would  ? '  says  Mulvaney ;  '  it's  not 
buyin'  him  I  mane,  but  for  the  sake  o'  this  kind,  good 
laady,  I'll  do  what  I  never  dreamt  to  do  in  my  life. 
I'll  stale  him!' 

'  Don't  say  steal,'  says  Mrs.  DeSussa  ;  4  he  shall  have 
the  happiest  home.  Dogs  often  get  lost,  you  know, 
and  then  they  stray,  an'  he  likes  me  and  I  like  him 
as  I  niver  liked  a  dog  yet,  an'  I  must  hev  him.  If 
I  got  him  at  t'  last  minute  I  could  carry  him  off  to 
Munsooree  Pahar  and  nobody  would  niver  knaw.' 

Now  an'  again  Mulvaney  looked  acrost  at  me,  an' 
though  I  could  mak  nowt  o'  what  he  was  after,  I  con- 
cluded to  take  his  leead. 

'  Well,  mum,'  I  says,  '  I  never  thowt  to  coom  down 
to  dog-steealin',  but  if  my  comrade  sees  how  it  could  be 
done  to  oblige  a  laady  like  yo'sen,  I'm  nut  t'  man  to 
hod  back,  tho'  it's  a  bad  business  I'm  thinkin',  an'  three 


24  PRIVATE  LEAROYD'S   STORY 

hundred  rupees  is  a  poor  set-off  again  t'  chance  of  them 
Damning  Islands  as  Mulvaney  talks  on.' 

1  I'll  mek  it  three  fifty,'  says  Mrs.  DeSussa ;  '  only  let 
me  hev  t'  dog  ! ' 

So  we  let  her  persuade  us,  an'  she  teks  Rip's  measure 
theer  an'  then,  an'  sent  to  Hamilton's  to  order  a  silver 
collar  again  t'  time  when  he  was  to  be  her  awn,  which 
was  to  be  t'  day  she  set  off  for  Munsooree  Pahar. 

'Sitha,  Mulvaney,'  says  I,  when  we  was  outside, 
'  you're  niver  goin'  to  let  her  hev  Rip ! ' 

4  An'  would  ye  disappoint  a  poor  old  woman?  '  says 
he ;  '  she  shall  have  a  Rip.' 

'  An'  wheer's  he  to  come  through?'  says  I. 

'  Learoyd,  my  man,'  he  sings  out,  '  you're  a  pretty 
man  av  your  inches  an'  a  good  comrade,  but  your  head 
is  made  av  duff.  Isn't  our  friend  Orth'ris  a  Taxider- 
mist, an'  a  rale  artist  wid  his  nimble  white  fingers? 
An'  what's  a  Taxidermist  but  a  man  who  can  thrate 
shkins  ?  Do  ye  mind  the  white  dog  that  belongs  to  the 
Canteen  Sargint,  bad  cess  to  him  —  he  that's  lost  half 
his  time  an'  snarlin'  the  rest?  He  shall  be  lost  for 
good  now;  an'  do  ye  mind  that  he's  the  very  spit  in 
shape  an'  size  av  the  Colonel's,  barrin'  that  his  tail  is 
an  inch  too  long,  an'  he  has  none  av  the  colour  that 
divarsifies  the  rale  Rip,  an'  his  timper  is  that  av  his 
masther  an'  worse.  But  fwhat  is  an  inch  on  a  dog's 
tail  ?  An'  fwhat  to  a  professional  like  Orth'ris  is  a  few 
ringstraked  shpots  av  black,  brown,  an'  white?  Nothin' 
at  all,  at  all.' 

Then  we  meets  Orth'ris,  an'  that  little  man,  bein' 
sharp  as  a  needle,  seed  his  way  through  t'  business  in  a 
minute.  An'  he  went  to  work  a-practisin'  'air-dyes  the 
very  next  day,  beginnin'  on  some  white  rabbits  he  had. 


PRIVATE  LEAROYD'S  STORY  25 

an'  then  he  drored  all  Rip's  markin's  on  t'  back  of  a 
white  Commissariat  bullock,  so  as  to  get  his  'and  in  an' 
be  sure  of  his  colours  ;  shadin'  off  brown  into  black  as 
nateral  as  life.  If  Rip  Tied  a  fault  it  was  too  mich 
markin',  but  it  was  straingely  reg'lar  an'  Orth'ris  set- 
tled himself  to  make  a  fost-rate  job  on  it  when  he  got 
haud  o'  t'  Canteen  Sargint's  dog.  Theer  niver  was  sich 
a  dog  as  thot  for  bad  temper,  an'  it  did  nut  get  no 
better  when  his  tail  hed  to  be  fettled  an  inch  an'  a  half 
shorter.  But  they  may  talk  o'  theer  Royal  Academies 
as  they  like.  I  niver  seed  a  bit  o'  animal  paintin'  to 
beat  t'  copy  as  Orth'ris  made  of  Rip's  marks,  wal  t' 
picter  itself  was  snarlin'  all  t'  time  an'  tryin'  to  get  at 
Rip  standin'  theer  to  be  copied  as  good  as  goold. 

Orth'ris  allus  hed  as  mich  conceit  on  himsen  as 
would  lift  a  balloon,  an'  he  wor  so  pleeased  wi'  his 
sham  Rip  he  wor  for  tekking  him  to  Mrs.  DeSussa 
before  she  went  away.  But  Mulvaney  an'  me  stopped 
thot,  knowin'  Orth'ris's  work,  though  niver  so  cliver, 
was  nobbut  skin-deep. 

An'  at  last  Mrs.  DeSussa  fixed  t'  day  for  startin'  to 
Munsooree  Pahar.  We  was  to  tek  Rip  to  t'  stayshun  i' 
a  basket  an'  hand  him  ovver  just  when  they  was  ready 
to  start,  an'  then  she'd  give  us  t'  brass  —  as  was  agreed 
upon. 

An'  my  wod !  It  were  high  time  she  were  off,  for 
them  'air-dyes  upon  t'  cur's  back  took  a  vast  of  paintin' 
to  keep  t'  reet  culler,  tho'  Orth'ris  spent  a  matter  o' 
seven  rupees  six  annas  i'  t'  best  drooggist  shops  i' 
Calcutta. 

An'  t'  Canteen  Sargint  was  lookin'  for  'is  dog  every- 
wheer;  an',  wi'  beiu'  tied  up,  t'  beast's  timper  got 
waur  nor  ever. 


26  PRIVATE   LEAROYD'S   STORY 

It  wor  i'  t'  evenin'  when  t'  train  started  thro'  Howrah, 
an'  we  'elped  Mrs.  DeSussa  wi'  about  sixty  boxes,  an' 
then  we  gave  her  t'  basket.  Orth'ris,  for  pride  av  his 
work,  axed  us  to  let  him  coom  along  wi'  us,  an'  he 
couldn't  help  liftin'  t'  lid  an'  showin'  t'  cur  as  he  lay 
coiled  oop. 

4  Oh  ! '  says  t'  awd  lass ,  l  the  beautee !  How  sweet 
he  looks ! '  An'  just  then  t'  beauty  snarled  an'  showed 
his  teeth,  so  Mulvaney  shuts  down  t'  lid  and  says : 
'Ye'll  be  careful,  marra,  whin  ye  tek  him  out.  He's 
disaccustomed  to  travelling  by  t'  railway,  an'  he'll  be 
sure  to  want  his  rale  mistress  an'  his  friend  Learoyd,  so 
ye'll  make  allowance  for  his  feelings  at  fost.' 

She  would  do  all  thot  an'  more  for  the  dear,  good 
Rip,  an'  she  would  nut  oppen  t'  basket  till  they  were 
miles  away,  for  fear  anybody  should  recognise  him,  an' 
we  were  real  good  and  kind  soldier-men,  we  were,  an' 
she  honds  me  a  bundle  o'  notes,  an'  then  cooms  up  a 
few  of  her  relations  an'  friends  to  say  good-by  —  not 
more  than  seventy-five  there  wasn't  —  an'  we  cuts 
away. 

What  coom  to  t'  three  hundred  and  fifty  rupees? 
Thot's  what  I  can  scarcelins  tell  yo',  but  we  melted  it 
—  we  melted  it.  It  was  share  an'  share  alike,  for  Mul- 
vaney said :  '  If  Learoyd  got  hold  of  Mrs.  DeSussa  first, 
sure  'twas  I  that  remimbered  the  Sargint's  dog  just  in 
the  nick  av  time,  an'  Orth'ris  was  the  artist  av  jaiiius 
that  made  a  work  av  art  out  av  that  ugly  piece  av  ill- 
nature.  Yet,  by  way  av  a  thank-offerin'  that  I  was  not 
led  into  felony  by  that  wicked  ould  woman,  I'll  send  a 
thrifle  to  Father  Victor  for  the  poor  people  he's  always 
beggin'  for.' 

But  me  an'  Orth'ris,  he  bein'  Cockney  an'  I   bein' 


PRIVATE  LEABOYD'S  STORY  27 

pretty  far  north,  did  nut  see  it  i'  t'  saame  way.  We'd 
getten  t'  brass,  an'  we  meaned  to  keep  it.  An'  soa  we 
did  —  for  a  short  time. 

Noa,  noa,  we  niver  heeard  a  wod  more  o'  t*  awd  lass. 
Our  rig'mint  went  to  Pindi,  an'  t'  Canteen  Sargint  he 
got  himself  another  tyke  insteead  o*  t'  one  'at  got  lost  so 
reg'lar,  an'  was  lost  for  good  at  last. 


THE  BIG  DRUNK  DRAF 

We're  goin'  'ome,  we're  goin'  'ome  — 

Our  ship  is  at  the  shore, 
An'  you  mus'  pack  your  'aversack, 

For  we  won't  come  back  no  mo1^. 
Ho,  don't  you  grieve  for  me, 

My  lovely  Mary  Ann, 
For  I'll  marry  you  yet  on  a  f ourp'ny  bit, 

As  a  time-expired  ma-a-an  1 

Barrack-room  Ballad. 

AN  awful  thing  has  happened !  My  friend,  Private 
Mulvaney,  who  went  home  in  the  Serapis,  time-expired, 
not  very  long  ago,  has  come  back  to  India  as  a  civilian ! 
It  was  all  Dinah  Shadd's  fault.  She  could  not  stand 
the  poky  little  lodgings,  and  she  missed  her  servant 
Abdullah  more  than  words  could  tell.  The  fact  was 
that  the  Mulvaneys  had  been  out  here  too  long,  and 
had  lost  touch  of  England. 

Mulvaney  knew  a  contractor  on  one  of  the  new 
Central  India  lines,  and  wrote  to  him  for  some  sort  of 
work.  The  contractor  said  that  if  Mulvaney  could  pay 
the  passage  he  would  give  him  command  of  a  gang  of 
coolies  for  old  sake's  sake.  The  pay  was  eighty-five 
rupees  a  month,  and  Dinah  Shadd  said  that  if  Terence 
did  not  accept  she  would  make  his  life  a  '  basted  purga- 
thory.'  Therefore  the  Mulvaneys  came  out  as  'civil- 
ians,' which  was  a  great  and  terrible  fall;  though 
Mulvaney  tried  to  disguise  it,  by  saying  that  he  was 
4  Ker'nel  on  the  railway  line,  an'  a  consequinshal  man.' 

26 


THE  BIG  DRUNK  DRAF'  29 

He  wrote  me  an  invitation,  on  a  tool-indent  form,  to 
visit  him ;  and  I  came  down  to  the  funny  little  '  con- 
struction' bungalow  at  the  side  of  the  line.  Dinah 
Shadd  had  planted  peas  about  and  about,  and  nature 
had  spread  all  manner  of  green  stuff  round  the  place. 
There  was  no  change  in  Mulvaney  except  the  change  of 
clothing,  which  was  deplorable,  but  could  not  be  helped. 
He  was  standing  upon  his  trolly,  haranguing  a  gang- 
man,  and  his  shoulders  were  as  well  drilled,  and  his  big, 
thick  chin  was  as  clean-shaven  as  ever. 

4  I'm  a  civilian  now,'  said  Mulvaney.  '  Cud  you  tell 
that  I  was  iver  a  martial  man  ?  Don't  answer,  Sorr,  av 
you're  strainin'  betune  a  complimint  an'  a  lie.  There's 
no  houldin'  Dinah  Shadd  now  she's  got  a  house  av  her 
own.  Go  inside,  an'  dhrink  tay  out  av  chiny  in  the 
drrrrawin'-room,  an'  thin  we'll  dhrink  like  Christians 
undher  the  tree  here.  Scutt,  ye  naygur-folk !  There's 
a  Sahib  come  to  call  on  me,  an'  that's  more  than  he'll 
iver  do  for  you  onless  you  run!  Get  out,  an'  go  on 
pilin'  up  the  earth,  quick,  till  sundown.' 

When  we  three  were  comfortably  settled  under  the 
big  sisham  in  front  of  the  bungalow,  and  the  first  rush 
of  questions  and  answers  about  Privates  Ortheris  and 
Learoyd  and  old  times  and  places  had  died  away,  Mul- 
vaney said,  reflectively  — '  Glory  be  there's  no  p'rade 
to-morrow,  an'  no  bun-headed  Corp'ril-bhoy  to  give  you 
his  lip.  An'  yit  I  don't  know.  'Tis  harrd  to  be  some- 
thing ye  niver  were  an'  niver  meant  to  be,  an'  all  the 
ould  days  shut  up  along  wid  your  papers.  Eyah !  I'm 
growin'  rusty,  an'  'tis  the  will  av  God  that  a  man 
mustn't  serve  his  Quane  for  time  an'  all.' 

He  helped  himself  to  a  fresh  peg,  and  sighed  furiously. 

4 Let  your  beard  grow,  Mulvaney,'  said  I,   'and  then 


30  THE  BIG  DRUNK  DRAF' 

you  won't  be  troubled  with  those  notions.  You'll  be  a 
real  civilian.  * 

Dinah  Shadd  had  told  me  in  the  drawing-room  of  her 
desire  to  coax  Mulvaney  into  letting  his  beard  grow. 
"Twas  so  civilian-like,'  said  poor  Dinah,  who  hated 
her  husband's  hankering  for  his  old  life. 

'Dinah  Shadd,  you're  a  dishgrace  to  an  honust,  clane- 
scraped  man ! '  said  Mulvaney,  without  replying  to  me. 
'Grow  a  beard  on  your  own  chin,  darlint,  and  lave  my 
razors  alone.  They're  all  that  stand  betune  me  and 
dis-ris-pect-ability.  Av  I  didn't  shave,  I  wud  be  tor- 
minted  w  id  an  outrajis  thurrst;  for  there's  nothin'  so 
dhryin'  to  the  throat  as  a  big  billy-goat  beard  waggin' 
undher  the  chin.  Ye  wudn't  have  me  dhrink  always, 
Dinah  Shadd?  By  the  same  token,  you're  kapin'  me 
crool  dhry  now.  Let  me  look  at  that  whiskey. ' 

The  whiskey  was  lent  and  returned,  but  Dinah  Shadd, 
who  had  been  just  as  eager  as  her  husband  in  asking 
after  old  friends,  rent  me  with  — 

'I  take  shame  for  you,  Sorr,  coming  down  here  — 
though  the  Saints  know  you're  as  welkim  as  the  day- 
light whin  you  do  come  —  an'  upsettin'  Terence's  head 
wid  your  nonsense  about  —  about  fwhat's  much  better 
forgotten.  He  bein'  a  civilian  now.  an'  you  niver  was 
aught  else.  Can  you  not  let  the  Arrmy  rest?  'Tis  not 
good  for  Terence. ' 

I  took  refuge  by  Mulvaney,  for  Dinah  Shadd  has  a 
temper  of  her  own. 

'Let  be  —  let  be,'  said  Mulvaney.  "Tis  only  wanst 
in  a  way  I  can  talk  about  the  ould  days. '  Then  to  me : 
—  'Ye  say  Dhrumshticks  is  well,  an'  his  lady  tu?  I 
niver  knew  how  I  liked  the  gray  garron  till  I  was  shut 
av  him  an'  Asia.'  — 'Dhrumshticks  '  was  the  nickname 


THE   BIG   DRUNK   DRAF  31 

of  the  Colonel  commanding  Mulvaney's  old  regiment. 
—  'Will  you  be  seein'  him  again?  You  will.  Thin 
tell  him'  —  Mulvaney's  eyes  began  to  twinkle  —  'tell 
him  wid  Privit ' 

' Mister,  Terence,'  interrupted  Dinah  Shadd. 

'Now  the  Divil  an'  all  his  angils  an'  the  Firmament 
av  Hiven  fly  away  wid  the  "Mister,"  an'  the  sin  av 
making  me  swear  be  on  your  confession,  Dinah  Shadd  I 
Privit,  I  tell  ye.  Wid  Privit  Mulvaney's  best  obedi- 
ence, that  but  for  me  the  last  time-expired  wud  be  still 
pullin'  hair  on  their  way  to  the  sea.' 

He  threw  himself  back  in  the  chair,  chuckled,  and 
was  silent. 

'Mrs.  Mulvaney, '  I  said,  'please  take  up  the  whiskey, 
and  don't  let  him  have  it  until  he  has  told  the  story. ' 

Dinah  Shadd  dexterously  whipped  the  bottle  away, 
saying  at  the  same  time,  "Tis  nothing  to  be  proud 
av, '  and  thus  captured  by  the  enemy,  Mulvaney 
spake : — 

"Twas  on  Chuseday  week.  I  was  behaderin'  round 
wid  the  gangs  on  the  'bankmint  —  I've  taught  the  hop- 
pers how  to  kape  step  an'  stop  screechin' — whin  a 
head-gangman  comes  up  to  me,  wid  about  two  inches  av 
shirt-tail  hanging  round  his  neck  an'  a  disthressful  light 
in  his  oi.  "  Sahib, "  sez  he,  "  there's  a  reg'mint  an'  a  half 
av  soldiers  up  at  the  junction,  knockin'  red  cinders 
out  av  ivrything  an'  ivrybody!  They  thried  to  hang 
me  in  my  cloth,"  he  sez,  "an'  there  will  be  murder  an' 
ruin  an'  rape  in  the  place  before  nightfall!  They  say 
they're  comin'  down  here  to  wake  us  up.  What  will 
we  do  wid  our  women-folk?" 

'"Fetch  my  throlly!  "  sez  I ;  "my  heart's  sick  in  my 
ribs  for  a  wink  at  anything  wid  the  Quane's  uniform  on 


32  THE   BIG  DRUNK   DRAF' 

ut.  Fetch  my  throlly,  an'  six  av  the  jildiest  men,  and 
run  me  up  in  shtyle." 

'He  tuk  his  best  coat,'  said  Dinah  Shadd  reproach- 
fully. 

"Twas  to  do  honour  to  the  Widdy.  I  cud  ha'  done 
no  less,  Dinah  Shadd.  You  and  your  digresshins  inter- 
fere wid  the  coorse  av  the  narrative.  Have  you  iver 
considhered  fwhat  I  wud  look  like  wid  me  head  shaved 
as  well  as  my  chin  ?  You  bear  that  in  your  mind,  Dinah 
darlin'. 

'I  was  throllied  up  six  miles,  all  to  get  a  shquint  at 
that  draf'.  I  knew  'twas  a  spring  draf  goin'  home,  for 
there's  no  rig'mint  hereabouts,  more's  the  pity.' 

'Praise  the  Virgin! '  murmured  Dinah  Shadd.  But 
Mulvaney  did  not  hear. 

'Whin  I  was  about  three-quarters  av  a  mile  off  the 
rest-camp,  powtherin'  along  fit  to  burrst,  I  heard  the 
noise  av  the  men  an',  on  my  sowl,  Sorr,  I  cud  catch 
the  voice  av  Peg  Barney  bellowin'  like  a  bison  wid  the 
belly-ache.  You  remimber  Peg  Barney  that  was  in  D 
Comp'ny  —  a  red,  hairy  scraun,  wid  a  scar  on  his  jaw? 
Peg  Barney  that  cleared  out  the  Blue  Lights'  Jubilee 
meeting  wid  the  cook-room  mop  last  year? 

'Thin  I  knew  ut  was  a  draf  of  the  ould  rig'mint,  an* 
I  was  conshumed  wid  sorrow  for  the  bhoy  that  was  in 
charge.  We  was  harrd  scrapin's  at  any  time.  Did  I 
iver  tell  you  how  Horker  Kelley  went  into  clink  nakid 
as  Phoebus  Apollonius,  wid  the  shirts  av  the  Corp'ril 
an'  file  undher  his  arrum?  An'  he  was  a  moild  man! 
But  I'm  digreshin'.  'Tis  a  shame  both  to  the  rig'- 
mints  and  the  Arrmy  sendin'  down  little  orf'cer  bhoys 
wid  a  draf  av  strong  men  mad  wid  liquor  an'  the  chanst 
av  £rettin'  shut  av  India,  an'  niver  a  punishment  that's 


THE  BIG   DRUNK  DRAF'  33 

fit  to  be  given  right  down  an1  away  from  cantonmints  to  the 
dock!  'Tis  this  nonsince.  Whin  I  am  servin'  my 
time,  I'm  undher  the  Articles  av  War,  an'  can  be 
whipped  on  the  peg  for  thim.  But  whin  I've  served 
my  time,  I'm  a  Reserve  man,  an'  the  Articles  av  War 
haven't  any  hould  on  me.  An  orf'cer  can't  do  anythin' 
to  a  time-expired  savin'  confinin'  him  to  barricks.  'Tis 
a  wise  rig'lation  bekaze  a  time-expired  does  not  have 
any  barricks ;  bein'  on  the  move  all  the  time.  'Tis  a 
Solomon  av  a  rig'lation,  is  that.  I  wud  like  to  be 
inthroduced  to  the  man  that  made  ut.  'Tis  easier  to 
get  colts  from  a  Kibbereen  horse-fair  into  Galway  than 
to  take  a  bad  draf '  over  ten  miles  av  country.  Consi- 
quintly  that  rig'lation  —  for  fear  that  the  men  wud  be 
hurt  by  the  little  orf'cer  bhoy.  No  matther.  The 
nearer  my  throlly  came  to  the  rest-camp,  the  woilder 
was  the  shine,  an'  the  louder  was  the  voice  av  Peg 
Barney.  "'Tis  good  I  am  here,"  thinks  I  to  myself, 
"for  Peg  alone  is  employmint  for  two  or  three."  He 
bein',  I  well  knew,  as  copped  as  a  dhrover. 

4  Faith,  that  rest-camp  was  a  sight !  The  tent-ropes 
was  all  skew-nosed,  an'  the  pegs  looked  as  dhrunk  as 
the  men  —  fifty  av  thim  —  the  scourin's,  an'  rinsin's,  an' 
Divil's  lavin's  avthe  Ould  Rig'mint.  I  tell  you,  Sorr, 
they  were  dhrunker  than  any  men  you've  ever  seen  in 
your  mortial  life.  How  does  a  draf  get  dhrunk?  How 
does  a  frog  get  fat  ?  They  suk  ut  in  through  their  shkins. 

'There  was  Peg  Barney  sittin'  on  the  groun'  in  his 
shirt  —  wan  shoe  off  an'  wan  shoe  on  —  whackin'  a 
tent-peg  over  the  head  wid  his  boot,  an'  singin'  fit  to 
wake  the  dead.  'Twas  no  clane  song  that  he  sung, 
though.  'Twas  the  DiviTs  Mass.' 

4 What's  that?'  I  asked. 


34  THE  BIG  DRUNK  DRAF' 

k  Whin  a  bad  egg  is  shut  av  the  Army,  he  sings  the 
Divil's  Mass  for  a  good  riddance ;  an'  that  manes  swear- 
in'  at  ivrything  from  the  CommaDdher-in-Chief  down 
to  the  Room-Corp'ril,  such  as  you  niver  in  your  days 
heard.  Some  men  can  swear  so  as  to  make  green  turf 
crack !  Have  you  iver  heard  the  Curse  in  an  Orange 
Lodge  ?  The  Divil's  Mass  is  ten  times  worse,  an'  Peg 
Barney  was  singin'  ut,  whackin'  the  tent-peg  on  the 
head  wid  his  boot  for  each  man  that  he  cursed.  A 
powerful  big  voice  had  Peg  Barney,  an'  a  hard  swearer 
he  was  whin  sober.  I  stood  forninst  him,  an'  'twas 
not  me  oi  alone  that  cud  tell  Peg  was  dhrunk  as  a  coot. 

'"Good  mornin'  Peg,"  I  sez,  whin  he  dhrew  breath 
afther  cursin'  the  Adj'tint  Gen'ral;  "I've  put  on  my 
best  coat  to  see  you,  Peg  Barney,"  sez  I. 

'"Thin  take  ut  off  again,"  sez  Peg  Barney,  lathe rin* 
away  wid  the  boot;  "take  ut  off  an'  dance,  ye  lousy 
civilian! " 

'Wid  that  he  begins  cursin'  ould  Dhrumshticks,  being 
so  full  he  clean  disremimbers  the  Brigade-Major  an' 
the  Judge  Advokit  Gen'ral. 

"'Do  you  not  know  me,  Peg?"  sez  I,  though  me 
blood  was  hot  in  me  wid  being  called  a  civilian. ' 

'An'  him  a  decent  married  man!'  wailed  Dinah 
Shadd. 

'"I  do  not,"  sez  Peg,  "but  dhrunk  or  sober  I'll  tear 
the  hide  off  your  back  wid  a  shovel  whin  I've  stopped 
singin'." 

'"Say  you  so,  Peg  Barney?"  sez  I.  " 'Tis  clear  as 
mud  you've  forgotten  me.  I'll  assist  your  autobiog- 
raphy." Wid  that  I  stretched  Peg  Barney,  boot  an' 
all,  an'  wint  into  the  imp.  An  awful  sight  ut  was! 

'"Where's  the  orf'cer  in  charge  av  the  detachment?" 


THE  BIG  DRUNK  DRAF'  36 

sez  I  to  Scrub  Greene  —  the  manest  little  worm  that 
ever  walked. 

'"There's  no  orf'cer,  ye  ould  cook,"  sez  Scrub; 
"we're  a  bloomin'  Republic." 

'"Are  you  that?"  sez  I;  "thin  I'm  O'Connell  the 
Dictator,  an'  by  this  you  will  larn  to  kape  a  civil 
tongue  in  your  rag-box." 

'"  Wid  that  I  stretched  Scrub  Greene  an'  wint  to  the 
orf'cer's  tent.  'Twas  a  new  little  bhoy  —  not  wan  I'd 
iver  seen  before.  He  was  sittin'  in  his  tent,  purtendin' 
not  to  'ave  ear  av  the  racket. 

'I  saluted  —  but  for -the  life  av  me  I  mint  to  shake 
hands  whin  I  went  in.  'Twas  the  sword  hangin'  on 
the  tent-pole  changed  my  will. 

'"Can't  I  help,  Sorr?"  sez  I;  "'tis  a  strong  man's 
job  they've  given  you,  an'  you'll  be  wantin'  help  by 
sundown."  He  was  a  bhoy  wid  bowils,  that  child,  an' 
a  rale  gintleman. 

4 "Sit  down, "sez  he. 

'"Not  before  my  orf'cer,"  sez  I;  an'  I  tould  him 
fwhat  my  service  was. 

'"I've  heard  av  you,"  sez  he.  "You  tuk  the  town 
av  Lungtungpen  nakid." 

'"Faith,"  thinks  I,  "that's  Honour  an'  Glory";  for 
'twas  Lift'nint  Brazenose  did  that  job.  "I'm  wid  ye, 
Sorr,"  sez  I,  "  if  I'm  av  use.  They  shud  niver  ha'  sent 
you  down  wid  the  draf.  Savin'  your  presince,  Sorr," 
I  sez,  "  'tis  only  Lift'nint  Hackerston  in  the  Ould 
Rig'mintcan  manage  a  Home  draf." 

'"I've  niver  had  charge  of  men  like  this  before,"  sez 
he,  playin'  wid  the  pens  on  the  table;  "an'  I  see  by 
the  Rig'lations " 

'"Shut  your  oi  to  the  Rig'lations,  Sorr,"  I  sez,  "till 


36  THE  BIG  DRUNK  DRAF' 

the  throoper's  into  blue  wather.  By  the  Rig'lations 
you've  got  to  tuck  thim  up  for  the  night,  or  they'll  be 
runnin'  foul  av  my  coolies  an'  makin'  a  shiverarium 
half  through  the  country.  Can  you  trust  your  non- 
coms,  Sorr?" 

'"Yes,  "sez  he. 

'"Good,"  sez  I;  "there'll  be  throuble  before  the 
night.  Are  you  marchin',  Sorr?" 

'"To  the  next  station,"  sez  he. 

'"Better  still,"  sez  I;  "there'll  be  big  throuble." 

*" Can't  be  too  hard  on  a  Home  draf,"  sez  he;  "the 
great  thing  is  to  get  thim  in-ship." 

'"Faith  you've  larnt  the  half  av  your  lesson,  Sorr," 
sez  I,  "but  av  you  shtick  to  the  Rig'lations  you'll  niver 
get  thim  in-ship  at  all,  at  all.  Or  there  won't  be  a  rag 
av  kit  betune  thim  whin  you  do." 

"Twas  a  dear  little  orf'cer  bhoy,  an'  by  way  av  kapin' 
his  heart  up,  I  tould  him  fwhat  I  saw  wanst  in  a  draf 
in  Egypt.' 

'What  was  that,  Mulvaney?'  said  I. 

'Sivin  an'  fifty  men  sittin'  on  the  bank  av  a  canal, 
laughin'  at  a  poor  little  squidgereen  av  an  orf'cer  that 
they'd  made  wade  into  the  slush  an'  pitch  the  things 
out  av  the  boats  for  their  Lord  High  Mightinesses. 
That  made  me  orf'cer  bhoy  woild  wid  indignation. 

'"Soft  an'aisy,  Sorr,"  sez  I;  "you've  niver  had  your 
draf  in  hand  since  }'>ou  left  cantonmints.  Wait  till 
the  night,  an'  your  work  will  be  ready  to  you.  Wid 
your  permission,  Sorr,  I  will  investigate  the  camp,  an' 
talk  to  my  ould  frinds.  'Tis  no  manner  av  use  thryin' 
to  shtop  the  divilmint  now." 

'Wid  that  I  wint  out  into  the  camp  an'  inthrojuced 
mysilf  to  ivry  man  sober  enough  to  renumber  me.  I 


THE  BIG  DRUNK  DRAF'  37 

was  some  wan  in  the  ould  days,  an'  the  bhoys  was  glad 
to  see  me  —  all  excipt  Peg  Barney  wid  a  eye  like  a 
tomata  five  days  in  the  bazar,  an'  a  nose  to  match. 
They  come  round  me  an'  shuk  me,  an'  I  tould  thim  I 
was  in  privit  employ  wid  an  income  av  me  own,  an'  a 
drrrawin'-room  fit  to  bate  the  Quane's ;  an'  wid  me  lies 
an'  me  shtories  an'  nonsinse  gin 'rally,  I  kept  'em  quiet 
in  wan  way  an'  another,  knockin'  roun'  the  camp. 
'Twas  bad  even  thin  whin  I  was  the  Angil  av  Peace. 

'  I  talked  to  me  ould  non-coms  —  they  was  sober  — 
an'  betune  me  an'  thim  we  wore  the  draf  over  into 
their  tents  at  the  proper  time.  The  little  orf'cer  bhoy 
he  comes  round,  decint  an'  civil-spoken  as  might  be. 

'"Rough  quarters,  men,"sez  he,  "but  you  can't  look 
to  be  as  comfortable  as  in  barricks.  We  must  make 
the  best  av  things.  I've  shut  my  eyes  to  a  dale  av  dog's 
tricks  to-day,  an'  now  there  must  be  no  more  av  ut." 

'"No  more  we  will.  Come  an'  have  a  dhrink,  me 
son,"sez  Peg  Barney,  staggerin'  where  he  stud.  Me 
little  orf'cer  bhoy  kep'  his  timper. 

'"You're  a  sulky  swine,  you  are,"  sez  Peg  Barney, 
an'  at  that  the  men  in  the  tent  began  to  laugh. 

'I  tould  you  me  orf'cer  bhoy  had  bowils.  He  cut  Peg 
Barney  as  near  as  might  be  on  the  oi  that  I'd  squshed 
whin  we  first  met.  Peg  wint  spinnin'  acrost  the  tent. 

'"Peg  him  out,  Sorr,"  sez  I,  in  a  whishper. 

'"Peg  him  out!  "  sez  me  orf'cer  bhoy,  up  loud,  just 
as  if  'twas  battalion-p'rade  an'  he  pickin'  his  wurrds 
from  the  Sargint. 

'The  non-coms  tuk  Peg  Barney  —  a  howlin'  handful 
he  was  —  an'  in  three  minuts  he  was  pegged  out  —  chin 
down,  tight-dhrawn  —  on  his  stummick,  a  tent-peg  to 
each  arm  an'  leg,  swearin'  fit  to  turn  a  naygur  white- 


38  THE  BIG  DRUNK  DRAF' 

'I  tuk  a  peg  an'  jammed  ut  into  his  ugly  jaw.  — » 
"Bite  on  that,  Peg  Barney,"  I  sez;  "the  night  is  set- 
tin'  frosty,  an'  you'll  be  wantin'  divarsion  before  the 
mornin'.  But  for  the  Rig'lations  you'd  be  bitin'  on  a 
bullet  now  at  the  thriangles,  Peg  Barney,"  sez  I. 

*  All  the  draf  was  out  av  their  tents  watchin'  Barney 
bein'  pegged. 

""Tis  agin  the  Rig'lations!  He  strook  him!" 
screeches  out  Scrub  Greene,  who  was  always  a  lawyer: 
an'  some  of  the  men  tuk  up  the  shoutin'. 

'"Peg  out  that  man!"  sez  my  orf'cer  bhoy,  niver 
losin'  his  timper;  an'  the  non-coms  wint  in  and  pegged 
out  Scrub  Greene  by  the  side  av  Peg  Barney. 

'I  cud  see  that  the  draf  was  comin'  roun'.  The  men 
stud  not  knowin'  fwhat  to  do. 

'"Get  to  your  tents!"  sez  me  orf'cer  bhoy.  "Sar- 
gint,  put  a  sintry  over  these  two  men." 

'The  men  wint  back  into  the  tents  like  jackals,  an' 
the  rest  av  the  night  there  was  no  noise  at  all  excipt 
the  stip  av  the  sintry  over  the  two,  an'  Scrub  Greene 
blubberin'  like  a  child.  'Twas  a  chilly  night,  an' 
faith,  ut  sobered  Peg  Barney. 

'Just  before  Revelly,  my  orf'cer  bhoy  comes  out  an' 
sez:  "Loose  those  men  an'  send  thim  to  their  tents!" 
Scrub  Greene  wint  away  widout  a  word,  but  Peg  Bar- 
ney, stiff  wid  the  cowld,  stud  like  a  sheep,  thryin'  to 
make  his  orf'cer  understhand  he  was  sorry  for  playin' 
the  goat. 

'There  was  no  tucker  in  the  draf  whin  ut  fell  in  for 
the  march,  an'  divil  a  wurrd  about  "  illegality  "  cud  I 
hear. 

'I  wint  to  the  ould  Colour  Sargint  and  I  sez :  —  "  Let 
me  die  in  glory,"  sez  I.  "  I've  seen  a  man  this  day  I  " 


THE   BIG   DRUNK  DBA!"  39 

"*  A  man  he  is,"  sez  ould  Mother;  "the  draf  s  as  sick 
as  a  herrin'.  They'll  all  go  down  to  the  sea  like 
lambs.  That  bhoy  has  the  bowils  av  a  cantonmint  av 
Gin'rals." 

'"Amin,"  sez  I,  "an'  good  luck  go  wid  him,  wher- 
iver  he  be,  by  land  or  by  sea.  Let  me  know  how  the 
draf  gets  clear." 

'An'  do  you  know  how  they  did?  That  bhoy,  so 
I  was  tould  by  letter  from  Bombay,  bullydamned  '  em 
down  to  the  dock,  till  they  cudn't  call  their  sowls  their 
own.  From  the  time  they  left  me  oi  till  they  was 
'tween  decks,  not  wan  av  thim  was  more  than  dacintly 
dhrunk.  An',  by  the  Holy  Articles  av  War,  whin 
they  wint  aboard  they  cheered  him  till  they  cudn't 
spake,  an'  that,  mark  you,  has  not  come  about  wid  a 
draf'  in  the  mim'ry  av  livin'  man !  You  look  to  that 
little  orf'cer  bhoy.  He  has  bowils.  'Tis  not  ivry 
child  that  wud  chuck  the  Rig'lations  to  Flanders  an' 
stretch  Peg  Barney  on  a  wink  from  a  brokin  an' 
dilapidated  ould  carkiss  like  mesilf.  I'd  be  proud  to 
serve ' 

*  Terence,  you're  a  civilian,'  said  Dinah  Shadd  warn- 
ingly. 

'  So  I  am  —  so  I  am.  Is  ut  likely  I  wud  forget  ut  ? 
But  he  was  a  gran'  bhoy  all  the  same,  an'  I'm  only  a 
mudtipper  wid  a  hod  on  my  shoulthers.  The  whiskey's 
in  the  heel  av  your  hand,  Sorr.  Wid  your  good  lave 
we'll  dhrink  to  the  Ould  Rig'mint  —  three  fingers  — 
standin'  up!' 

And  we  drank. 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  VISIGOTH 

'Eternal  Father,  strong  to  save, 
Whose  arm  hath  bound  the  restless  wave, 
Who  bidst  the  mighty  ocean  keep 
Its  own  appointed  limits  deep.' 

THE  lady  passengers  were  trying  the  wheezy  old 
harmonium  in  front  of  the  cuddy,  because  it  was  Sunday 
night.  In  the  patch  of  darkness  near  the  wheel-grat- 
ing sat  the  Captain,  and  the  end  of  his  cheroot  burned 
like  a  head-lamp.  There  was  neither  breath  nor  motion 
upon  the  waters  through  which  the  screw  was  thudding. 
They  spread,  dull  silver,  under  the  haze  of  the  moon- 
light till  they  joined  the  low  coast  of  Malacca  away  to 
the  eastward.  The  voices  of  the  singers  at  the  harmo- 
nium were  held  down  by  the  awnings,  and  came  to  us 

with  force. 

'  Oh,  hear  us  when  we  cry  to  Thee, 
For  those  in  peril  on  the  sea.' 

It  was  as  though  the  little  congregation  were  afraid 
of  the  vastness  of  the  sea.  But  a  laugh  followed,  and 
some  one  said,  '  Shall  we  take  it  through  again  a  little 
quicker? '  Then  the  Captain  told  the  story  of  just  such 
a  night,  lowering  his  voice  for  fear  of  disturbing  the 
music  and  the  minds  of  the  passengers. 

'  She  was  the  Visigoth,  —  five  hundred  tons,  or  it  may 
have  been  six,  —  in  the  coasting  trade  ;  one  of  the  best 
steamers  and  best  found  on  the  Kutch-Kasauli  line. 

1  Copyright,  1895,  by  MACMILLAN  <fe  Co. 
40 


THE   WRECK  OF  THE   VISIGOTH  41 

She  wasn't  six  years  old  when  the  thing  happened :  on 
just  such  a  night  as  this,  with  an  oily  smooth  sea,  under 
brilliant  starlight,  about  a  hundred  miles  from  land. 
To  this  day  no  one  knows  really  what  the  matter  was. 
She  was  so  small  that  she  could  not  have  struck  even  a 
log  in  the  water  without  every  soul  on  board  feeling 
the  jar;  and  even  if  she  had  struck  something,  it 
wouldn't  have  made  her  go  down  as  she  did.  I  was 
fourth  officer  then;  we  had  about  seven  saloon  passen- 
gers, including  the  Captain's  wife  and  another  woman, 
and  perhaps  five  hundred  deck-passengers  going  up  the 
coast  to  a  shrine,  on  just  such  a  night  as  this,  when  she 
was  ripping  through  the  level  sea  at  a  level  nine  knots 
an  hour.  The  man  on  the  bridge,  whoever  it  was,  saw 
that  she  was  sinking  at  the  head.  Sinking  by  the  head 
as  she  went  along.  That  was  the  only  warning  we  got. 
She  began  to  sink  as  she  went  along.  Of  course  the 
Captain  was  told,  and  he  sent  me  to  wake  up  the  saloon 
passengers  and  tell  them  to  come  on  deck.  'Sounds  a 
curious  sort  of  message  that  to  deliver  on  a  dead  still 
night.  The  people  tumbled  up  in  their  dressing- 
gowns  and  pyjamas,  and  wouldn't  believe  me.  We 
were  just  sinking  as  fast  as  we  could,  and  I  had  to  tell 
em  that.  Then  the  deck-passengers  got  wind  of  it, 
and  all  Hell  woke  up  along  the  decks. 

'  The  rule  in  these  little  affairs  is  to  get  your  saloon 
passengers  off  first,  then  to  fill  the  boats  with  the 
balance,  and  afterwards  —  God  help  the  extras,  that's 
all.  I  was  getting  the  starboard  stern  boat  —  the  mail- 
boat —  away.  It  hung  as  it  might  be  over  yonder,  and 
as  I  came  along  from  the  cuddy,  the  deck-passengers 
hung  round  me,  shoving  their  money-belts  into  my 
hand,  taking  off  their  nose-rings  and  earrings,  and 


42  THE    WRECK  OF  THE   VISIGOTH 

thrusting  'em  upon  me  to  buy  just  one  chance  for  life.  If 
I  hadn't  been  so  desperately  busy,  I  should  have  thought 
it  horrible.  I  put  biscuits  and  water  into  the  boat,  and 
got  the  two  ladies  in.  One  of  'em  was  the  Captain's 
wife.  She  had  to  be  put  in  by  main  force.  You've  no 
notion  how  women  can  struggle.  The  other  woman 
was  the  wife  of  an  officer  going  to  meet  her  husband ; 
and  there  were  a  couple  of  passengers  beside  the  las- 
cars.  The  Captain  said  he  was  going  to  stay  with  the 
ship.  You  see  the  rule  in  these  affairs,  I  believe,  is 
that  the  Captain  has  to  bow  gracefully  from  the  bridge 
and  go  down.  I  haven't  had  a  ship  under  my  charge 
wrecked  yet.  When  that  comes,  I'll  have  to  do  like 
the  others.  After  the  boats  were  away,  and  I  saw  that 
there  was  nothing  to  be  got  by  waiting,  I  jumped  over- 
board exactly  as  I  might  have  vaulted  over  into  a  flat 
green  field,  and  struck  out  for  the  mail-boat.  Another 
officer  did  the  same  thing,  but  he  went  for  a  boat  full 
of  natives,  and  they  whacked  him  on  the  chest  with 
oars,  so  he  had  some  difficulty  in  climbing  in. 

'  It  was  as  well  that  I  reached  the  mail-boat.  There 
was  a  compass  in  it,  but  the  idiots  had  managed  to  fill 
the  boat  half  full  of  water  somehow  or  another,  and 
none  of  the  crew  seemed  to  know  what  was  required  of 
them.  Then  the  Visigoth  went  down  and  took  every 
one  with  her  —  ships  generally  do  that;  the  corpses 
don't  cumber  the  sea  for  some  time. 

*  What  did  I  do  ?  I  kept  all  the  boats  together,  and 
headed  into  the  track  of  the  coasting  steamers.  The 
aggravating  thing  was  the  thought  that  we  were  closQ 
to  land  as  far  as  a  big  steamer  was  concerned,  and  in 
the  middle  of  eternity  as  far  as  regarded  a  little  boat, 
The  sea  looks  hugeous  big  from  a  boat  at  night.' 


THE   WRECK  OF  THE  VISIGOTH  43 

'Oh,  Christ,  whose  voice  the  waters  heard 
And  hushed  their  ravings  at  Thy  word, 
Who  walkedst  on  the  foaming  deep 
And  calm  amidst  its  rage  did  keep,  — 
Oh,  hear  us  when  we  cry  to  Thee, 
For  those  in  peril  on  the  sea ! ' 

sang  the  passengers  cheerily. 

'  That  harmonium  is  disgracefully  out  of  tune,'  said 
the  Captain.  '  The  sea  air  affects  their  insides.  Well, 
as  I  was  saying,  we  settled  down  in  the  boat.  The 
Captain's  wife  was  unconscious ;  she  lay  in  the  bottom 
of  the  boat  and  moaned.  I  was  glad  she  wasn't  thresh- 
ing about  the  boat:  but  what  I  did  think  was  wrong, 
was  the  way  the  two  men  passengers  behaved.  They 
were  useless  with  funk  —  out  and  out  fear.  They  lay 
in  the  boat  and  did  nothing.  Fetched  a  groan  now 
and  again  to  show  they  were  alive ;  but  that  was  all. 
But  the  other  woman  was  a  jewel.  Damn  it,  it  was 
worth  being  shipwrecked  to  have  that  woman  in  the 
boat;  she  was  awfully  handsome,  and  as  brave  as  she 
was  lovely.  She  helped  me  bail  out  the  boat,  and  she 
worked  like  a  man. 

'So  we  kicked  about  the  sea  from  midnight  till 
seven  the  next  evening,  and  then  we  saw  a  steamer. 
"I'll  —  I'll  give  }-ou  anything  I'm  wearing  to  hoist  as 
a  signal  of  distress,"  said  the  woman ;  but  I  had  no 
need  to  ask  her,  for  the  steamer  picked  us  up  and  took 
us  back  to  Bombay.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that,  when 
the  day  broke,  I  couldn't  recognise  the  Captain's  wife 
—  widow,  I  mean.  She  had  changed  in  the  night  as  if 
fire  had  gone  over  her.  I  met  her  a  long  time  after- 
wards, and  even  then  she  hadn't  forgiven  me  for  put- 
ting her  into  the  boat  and  obeying  the  Captain's  orders. 


44  THE   WRECK  OF  THE  VISIGOTH 

But  the  husband  of  the  other  woman — he's  in  the  Army 
—  wrote  me  no  end  of  a  letter  of  thanks.  I  don't  sup- 
pose he  considered  that  the  way  his  wife  behaved  was 
enough  to  make  any  decent  man  do  all  he  could.  The 
other  fellows,  who  lay  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  and 
groaned,  I've  never  met.  Don't  want  to.  Shouldn't 
be  civil  to  'em  if  I  did.  And  that's  how  the  Visigoth 
went  down,  for  no  assignable  reason,  with  eighty  bags 
of  mail,  five  hundred  souls,  and  not  a  single  packet 
insured,  on  just  such  a  night  as  this.' 

'  Oh,  Trinity  of  love  and  power, 
Our  brethren  shield  in  that  dread  hour, 
From  rock  and  tempest,  fire  and  foe, 
Protect  them  wheresoe'er  they  go. 
Thus  evermore  shall  rise  to  Thee 
Glad  hymns  of  praise  by  land  and  sea.' 

'Strikes  me  they'll  go  on  singing  that  hymn  all 
night.  Imperfect  sort  of  doctrine  in  the  last  lines, 
don't  you  think?  They  might  have  run  in  an  extra 
verse  specifying  sudden  collapse  —  like  the  Visigoth's. 
I'm  going  on  to  the  bridge,  now.  Good-night,'  said 
the  Captain. 

And  I  was  left  alone  with  the  steady  thud,  thud,  of 
the  screw  and  the  gentle  creaking  of  the  boats  at  the 
davits. 

That  made  me  shudder. 


THE  SOLID   MULDOON 

Did  ye  see  John  Malone,  wid  his  shinin',  brand-new  hat? 

Did  ye  see  how  he  walked  like  a  grand  aristocrat  ? 

There  was  flags  an'  banners  wavin'  high,  an'  dhress  and  shtyie  were 

shown, 
But  the  best  av  all  the  company  was  Misther  John  Malone. 

John  Malone. 

THERE  had  been  a  royal  dog-fight  in  the  ravine  at 
the  back  of  the  rifle-butts,  between  Learoyd's  Jock  and 
Ortheris's  Blue  Rot  —  both  mongrel  Rampur  hounds, 
chiefly  ribs  and  teeth.  It  lasted  for  twenty  happy, 
howling  minutes,  and  then  Blue  Rot  collapsed  and 
Ortheris  paid  Learoyd  three  rupees,  and  we  were  all 
very  thirsty.  A  dog-fight  is  a  most  heating  entertain- 
ment, quite  apart  from  the  shouting,  because  Rampurs 
fight  over  a  couple  of  acres  of  ground.  Later,  when 
the  sound  of  belt-badges  clicking  against  the  necks  of 
beer-bottles  had  died  away,  conversation  drifted  from 
dog  to  man-fights  of  all  kinds.  Humans  resemble  red- 
deer  in  some  respects.  Any  talk  of  fighting  seems  to 
wake  up  a  sort  of  imp  in  their  breasts,  and  they  bell 
one  to  the  other,  exactly  like  challenging  bucks.  This 
is  noticeable  even  in  men  who  consider  themselves  supe- 
rior to  Privates  of  the  Line  :  it  shows  the  Refining 
Influence  of  Civilisation  and  the  March  of  Progress. 

Tale  provoked  tale,  and  each  tale  more  beer.  Even 
dreamy  Learoyd's  eyes  began  to  brighten,  and  he  un- 
burdened himself  of  a  long  history  in  which  a  trip  to 

45 


46  THE   SOLID   MULDOON 

Malham  Cove,  a  girl  at  Pateley  Brigg,  a  ganger,  himself 
and  a  pair  of  clogs  were  mixed  in  drawling  tangle. 

'  An'  so  Ah  coot's  yead  oppen  from  t'  chin  to  t'  hair, 
an'  he  was  abed  for  t'  matter  o'  a  mont^'  concluded 
Learoyd  pensively. 

Mulvaney  came  out  of  a  reverie  — he  was  lying  down 
—  and  flourished  his  heels  in  the  air.  'You're  a  man, 
Learoyd,'  said  he  critically, '  but  you've  only  fought  wid 
men,  an'  that's  an  ivr}>--day  expayrience ;  but  I've  stud 
up  to  a  ghost,  an'  that  was  not  an  ivry-day  expayrience.' 

'No?'  said  Ortheris,  throwing  a  cork  at  him.  'You 
git  up  an'  address  the  'ouse  — you  an'  yer  expayriences. 
Is  it  a  bigger  one  nor  usual  ? ' 

'  'Twas  the  livin'  trut'  I '  answered  Mulvaney,  stretch- 
ing out  a  huge  arm  and  catching  Ortheris  by  the  collar. 
4  Now  where  are  ye,  me  son?  Will  ye  take  the  wurrud 
av  the  Lorrd  out  av  my  mouth  another  time  ? '  He 
shook  him  to  emphasise  the  question. 

'  No,  somethin'  else,  though,'  said  Ortheris,  making  a 
dash  at  Mulvaney's  pipe,  capturing  it  and  holding  it  at 
arm's  length;  '  I'll  chuck  it  acrost  the  ditch  if  you  don't 
let  me  go  I ' 

'  You  maraudin'  hathen !  'Tis  the  only  cutty  I  iver 
loved.  Handle  her  tinder  or  I'll  chuck  you  acrost  the 
nullah.  If  that  poipe  was  bruk  —  Ah  !  Give  her  back 
to  me,  Sorr  ! ' 

Ortheris  had  passed  the  treasure  to  my  hand.  It  was 
an  absolutely  perfect  clay,  as  shiny  as  the  black  ball  at 
Pool.  I  took  it  reverently,  but  I  was  firm. 

*  Will  you  tell  us  about  the  ghost-fight  if  I  do  ?  '  I 
said. 

'  Is  ut  the  shtory  that's  troublin'  you  ?  Av  course  I 
will.  I  mint  to  all  along.  I  was  only  gettin'  at  ut  my 


THE   SOLID   MULDOON  47 

own  way,  as  Popp  Doggie  said  whin  they  found  him 
thrying  to  ram  a  cartridge  down  the  muzzle.  Orth'ris, 
fall  away  I ' 

He  released  the  little  Londoner,  took  back  his  pipe, 
filled  it,  and  his  eyes  twinkled.  He  has  the  most  elo- 
quent eyes  of  any  one  that  I  know. 

'  Did  I  iver  tell  you,'  he  began,  '  that  I  was  wanst  the 
divil  av  a  man  ? ' 

*  You  did,'  said  Learoyd  with  a  childish  gravity  that 
made  Ortheris  yell  with  laughter,  for  Mulvaney  was 
always  impressing  upon  us  his  great  merits  in  the  old 
days. 

'  Did  I  iver  tell  you,'  Mulvaney  continued  calmly, 
*  that  I  was  wanst  more  av  a  divil  than  I  am  now  ?  ' 

'  Mer — ria !     You  don't  mean  it  ? '  said  Ortheris. 

'  Whin  I  was  Corp'ril  —  I  was  rejuced  af therwards  — 
but,  as  I  say,  whin  I  was  Corp'ril,  I  was  a  divil  of  a  man.' 

He  was  silent  for  nearly  a  minute,  while  his  mind 
rummaged  among  old  memories  and  his  eye  glowed. 
He  bit  upon  the  pipe-stem  and  charged  into  his  tale. 

'  Eyah !  They  was  great  times.  I'm  ould  now  ;  me 
hide's  wore  off  in  patches  ;  sinthrygo  has  disconceited 
me,  an'  I'm  a  married  man  tu.  But  I've  had  my  day  - 
I've  had  my  day,  an'  nothin'  can  take  away  the  ta.ste  av 
that!  Oh  my  time  past,  whin  I  put  me  fut  through  ivry 
livin'  wan  av  the  Tin  Commandmints  between  Revelry 
and  Lights  Out,  blew  the  froth  off  a  pewter,  wiped  me 
moustache  wid  the  back  av  me  hand,  an'  slept  on  ut  all 
as  quiet  as  a  little  child  !  But  ut's  over  —  ut's  over, 
an'  'twill  niver  come  back  to  me ;  not  though  I  prayed 
for  a  week  av  Sundays.  Was  there  any  wan  in  the 
Ould  Rig'mint  to  touch  Corp'ril  Terence  Mulvaney 
whin  that  same  was  turned  out  for  sedukshin  ?  I  niver 


48  THE   SOLID   MULDOON 

met  him.  Ivry  woman  that  was  not  a  witch  was  worth 
the  runnin'  afther  in  those  days,  an'  ivry  man  was  my 
dearest  frind  or  —  I  had  stripped  to  him  an'  we  knew 
which  was  the  betther  av  the  tu. 

*  Whin  I  was  Corp'ril  I  wud  not  ha'  changed  wid  the 
Colonel  —  no,  nor  yet  the  Commandher-in-Chief.  I 
wud  be  a  Sargint.  There  was  nothin'  I  wud  not  be ! 
Mother  av  Hivin,  look  at  me !  Fwhat  am  I  now  ? 

'  We  was  quartered  in  a  big  cantonmint  —  'tis  no 
manner  av  use  namin'  names,  for  ut  might  give  the 
barricks  disrepitation  —  an'  I  was  the  Imperor  av  the 
Earth  to  my  own  mind,  an'  wan  or  tu  women  thought 
the  same.  Small  blame  to  thim.  Afther  we  had  lain 
there  a  year,  Bragin,  the  Colour  Sargint  av  E  Comp'ny, 
wint  an'  took  a  wife  that  was  lady's  maid  to  some  big 
lady  in  the  Station.  She's  dead  now  is  Annie  Bragin 

—  died  in  child-bed  at  Kirpa  Tal,  or  ut  may  ha'  been 
Almorah  —  seven  —  nine  years   gone,    an'    Bragin    he 
married  agin.    But  she  was  a  pretty  woman  whin  Bragin 
inthrojuced  her  to  cantonmint  society.    She  had  eyes 
like  the  brown   av   a   buttherfly's  wing  whin   the   sun 
catches  ut,  an'  a  waist  no  thicker  than  my  arm,  an'  a 
little  sof  button  av  a  mouth  I  would  ha'  gone  through 
all  Asia  bristlin'  wid  bay 'nits  to  get  the  kiss  av.      An' 
her  hair  was  as  long  as  the  tail  av  the  Colonel's  charger 

—  forgive  me  mentionin'  that  blunderin'  baste  in  the 
same  mouthful  with  Annie  Bragin — but  'twas  all  shpun 
gold,  an'  time  was  when  a  lock  av  ut   was  more  than 
di'monds  to  me.     There  was  niver  pretty  woman  yet,  an' 
I've  had  thruck  wid  a  few,  cud  open  the  door  to  Annie 
Bragin. 

4  '  Twas  in  the  Cath'lic  Chapel  I  saw  her  first,  me  oi 
rolling  round  as  usual  to  see  fwhat  was  to  be  seen. 


THE   SOLID  MULDOON  49 

"  You're  too  good  for  Bragin,  my  love,"  thinks  I  to 
mesilf ,  "  but  that's  a  mistake  I  can  put  straight,  or  my 
name  is  not  Terence  Mulvaney." 

4  Now  take  my  wurrd  for  ut,  you  Orth'ris  there  an' 
Learoyd,  an'  kape  out  av  the  Married  Quarters  —  as  I 
did  not.  No  good  iver  comes  av  ut,  an'  there's  always 
the  chance  av  your  bein'  found  wid  your  face  in  the 
dirt,  a  long  picket  in  the  back  av  your  head,  an'  your 
hands  playing  the  fifes  on  the  tread  av  another  man's 
doorstep.  'Twas  so  we  found  O'Hara,  he  that  Rafferty 
killed  six  years  gone,  when  he  wint  to  his  death  wid  his 
hair  oiled,  whistlin'  Larry  0' Rourke  betune  his  teeth. 
Kape  out  av  the  Married  Quarters,  I  say,  as  I  did  not. 
'Tis  onwholesim,  'tis  dangerous,  an'  'tis  ivrything  else 
that's  bad,  but — O  my  sowl,  'tis  swate  while  ut 
lasts! 

*  I  was  always  hangin'  about  there  whin  I  was  off 
duty  an'  Bragin  wasn't,  but  niver  a  sweet  word  beyon' 
ordinar'  did  I  get  from  Annie  Bragin.  "  'Tis  the  per- 
varsity  av  the  sect,"  sez  I  to  mesilf,  an'  gave  my  cap 
another  cock  on  my  head  an'  straightened  my  back 
—  'twas  the  back  av  a  Dhrum  Major  in  those  days  —  an' 
wint  off  as  tho'  I  did  not  care,  wid  all  the  women  in  the 
Married  Quarters  laughin'.  I  was  pershuaded  —  most 
bhoys  are  I'm  thinkin'  --  that  no  woman  born  av  woman 
cud  stand  against  me  av  I  hild  up  my  little  finger.  I 
had  reason  fer  thinkin'  that  way  —  till  I  met  Annie 
Bragin. 

4  Time  an'  agin  whin  I  was  blandandherin'  in  the 
dusk  a  man  wud  go  past  me  as  quiet  as  a  cat.  "  That's 
quare,"  thinks  I,  "for  I  am,  or  I  should  be,  the  only 
man  in  these  parts.  Now  what  divilment  can  Annie  be 
up  to?"  Thin  I  called  myself  a  blayguard  for  thinkin' 


60  THE  SOLID  MULDOON 

such  things ;  but  I  thought  thim  all  the  same.  An' 
that,  mark  you,  is  the  way  av  a  man. 

'Wan  evenin'  I  said:  —  "Mrs.  Bragin,  manin'  no 
disrespect  to  you,  who  is  that  Corp'ril  man "  —  I  had 
seen  the  stripes  though  I  cud  niver  get  sight  av  his 
face  —  "  who  is  that  Corp'ril  man  that  comes  in  always 
whin  I'm  goin'  away?" 

' "  Mother  av  God ! "  sez  she,  turnin'  as  white  as  my 
belt ,  "  have  you  seen  him  too  ?  " 

' "  Seen  him ! "  sez  I ;  "  av  coorse  I  have.  Did  ye  want 
me  not  to  see  him,  for  "  —  we  were  standin'  talkin'  in 
the  dhark,  outside  the  veranda  av  Bragin's  quarters  — 
"you'd  betther  tell  me  to  shut  me  eyes.  Onless  I'm 
mistaken,  he's  come  now." 

4  An',  sure  enough,  the  Corp'ril  man  was  walkin'  to  us, 
hangin'  his  head  down  as  though  he  was  ashamed  av 
himsilf. 

' "  Good-night,  Mrs.  Bragin,"  sez  I,  very  cool ;  "  'tis 
not  for  me  to  interfere  wid  your  a-moors  ;  but  you  might 
manage  some  things  wid  more  dacincy.  I'm  off  to  can- 
teen," I  sez. 

' 1  turned  on  my  heel  an'  wint  away,  swearin'  I  wud 
give  that  man  a  dhressin'  that  wud  shtop  him  messin' 
about  the  Married  Quarters  for  a  month  an*  a  week.  I 
had  not  tuk  ten  paces  before  Annie  Bragin  was  hangin' 
on  to  my  arm,  an'  I  cud  feel  that  she  was  shakin'  all  over. 

'"Stay  wid  me,  Mister  Mulvaney,"  sez  she;  "you're 
flesh  an'  blood,  at  the  least  —  are  ye  not?" 

' "  I'm  all  that,"  sez  I,  an'  my  anger  wint  away  in  a 
flash.  "  Will  I  want  to  be  asked  twice,  Annie  ?  " 

'  Wid  that  I  slipped  my  arm  round  her  waist,  for, 
begad,  1  fancied  she  had  surrindered  at  discretion,  a»' 
the  honours  av  way  were  mine. 


THE   SOLID  MULDOON  51 

* "  Fwhat  nonsinse  is  this  ?  "  sez  she,  dhrawin'  hersilf 
up  on  the  tips  av  her  dear  little  toes.  u  Wid  the 
mother's  milk  not  dhry  on  your  impident  mouth  ?  Let 
go ! "  she  sez. 

' "  Did  ye  not  say  just  now  that  I  was  flesh  and 
blood?  "  sez  I.  "  I  have  not  changed  since,"  I  sez  ;  an' 
I  kep'  my  arm  where  ut  was. 

'"Your  arms  to  yoursilfl''  sez  she,  an'  her  eyes 
sparkild. 

'"Sure,  'tis  only  human  nature,"  sez  I,  an'  I  kep' 
my  arm  where  ut  was. 

'"Nature  or  no  nature,"  sez  she,  "you  take  your 
arm  away  or  I'll  tell  Bragin,  an'  he'll  alter  the  nature 
av  your  head.  Fwhat  d'you  take  me  for  ?  "  she  sez. 

' "  A  woman,"  sez  I ;  "  the  picttiest  in  barricks." 

'"A  wife"  sez  she;  "the  straightest  in  canton- 
mints  !  " 

'  Wid  that  I  dropped  my  arm,  fell  back  tu  paces,  an' 
saluted,  for  I  saw  that  she  mint  Iwhat  she  said.' 

'  Then   you  know  something  that  some  men  would 
give  a  good  deal  to  be  certain  of.    How  could  you  tell? 
I  demanded  in  the  interests  of  Science. 

'"Watch  the  hand,"  said  Mulvaney;  "av  she  shuts 
her  hand  tight,  thumb  down  over  the  knuckle,  take  up 
your  hat  an'  go.  You'll  only  make  a  fool  av  yoursilf  av 
you  shtay.  But  av  the  hand  lies  opin  on  the  lap,  or  av 
you  see  her  thryin'  to  shut  ut,  an'  she  can't,  —  go  on! 
She's  not  past  reasonin'  wid." 

'  Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  I  fell  back,  saluted,  an'  was 
goin'  away. 

' "  Shtay  wid  me,"  she  sez.  "  Look !  He's  comin' 
again." 

'  She  pointed  to  the  veranda,  an'  by  the  Height  av 


62  THE  SOLID  MULDOON 

Impart'nince,  the  Corp'ril  man  was  comin'  out  av  Bra- 
gin's  quarters. 

4 "  He's  done  that  these  five  evenin's  past,"  sez  Annie 
Bragin.  "  Oh,  fwhat  will  I  do !  " 

'"  He'll  not  do  ut  again,"  sez  I,  for  I  was  fightin' 
mad. 

'Kape  away  from  a  man  that  has  been  a  thrifle 
crossed  in  love  till  the  fever's  died  down.  He  rages 
like  a  brute  beast. 

*I  wint  up  to  the  man  in  the  veranda,  manin',  as 
sure  as  I  sit,  to  knock  the  life  out  av  him.  He  slipped 
into  the  open.  "Fwhat  are  you  doin'  philanderin'' 
about  here,  ye  scum  av  the  gutter?"  sez  I  polite,  to 
give  him  his  warning  for  I  wanted  him  ready. 

*  He  niver  lifted  his  head,  but  sez,  all  mournful  an' 
melancolius,  as  if  he  thought  I  wud  be  sorry  for  him : 
"  I  can't  find  her,"  sez  he. 

*"My  troth,"  sez  I,  "you've  lived  too  long — you 
an'  your  seekin's  an'  findin's  in  a  dacint  married 
woman's  quarters  !  Hould  up  your  head,  ye  frozen 
thief  av  Genesis,"  sez  I,  "  an'  you'll  find  all  you  want 
an'  more ! " 

'  But  he  niver  hild  up,  an*  I  let  go  from  the  shoulder 
to  where  the  hair  is  short  over  the  eyebrows. 

4 "  That'll  do  your  business,"  sez  I,  but  it  nearly  did 
mine  instid.  I  put  my  bodyweight  behind  the  blow, 
but  I  hit  nothing  at  all,  an'  near  put  my  shoulther  out. 
The  Corp'ril  man  was  not  there,  an'  Annie  Bragin,  who 
had  been  watchin'  from  the  veranda,  throws  up  her 
heels,  an'  carries  on  like  a  cock  whin  his  neck's  wrung 
by  the  dhrummer-bhoy.  I  wint  back  to  her,  for  a  livin' 
woman,  an'  a  woman  like  Annie  Bragin,  is  more  than  a 
p'rade-groun'  full  av  ghosts.  IM  never  seen  a  woman 


THE  SOLID  MULDOON  53 

faint  before,  an'  I  stud  like  a  shtuck  calf,  askin'  her 
whether  she  was  dead,  an'  prayin'  her  for  the  love  av 
me,  an'  the  love  av  her  husband,  an'  the  love  av  the 
Virgin,  to  opin  her  blessed  eyes  again,  an'  callin'  mesilf 
all  the  names  undher  the  canopy  av  Hivin  for  plaguin' 
her  wid  my  miserable  a-moors  whin  I  ought  to  ha'  stud 
betune  her  an'  this  Corp'ril  man  that  had  lost  the  num- 
ber av  his  mess. 

*  I  misremimber  f  what  nonsinse  I  said,  but  I  was  not 
so  far  gone  that  I  cud  not  hear  a  fut  on  the  dirt  outside. 
'Twas  Bragin  comin'  in,  an'  by  the  same  token  Annie 
was  comin'  to.  I  jumped  to  the  far  end  av  the  veranda 
an'  looked  as  if  butter  wudn't  melt  in  my  mouth.  But 
Mrs.  Quinn,  the  Quarter-Master's  wife  that  was,  had 
tould  Bragin  about  my  hangin'  round  Annie. 

' "  I'm  not  pleased  wid  you,  Mulvaney,"  sez  Bragin, 
unbucklin'  his  sword,  for  he  had  been  on  duty. 

' "  That's  bad  hearin', "  I  sez,  an'  I  knew  that  the 
pickets  were  dhriven  in.  "What  for,  Sargint?"  sez  I. 

' "  Come  outside,"  sez  he,  "  an'  I'll  show  you  why." 

' "  I'm  willin',"  I  sez ;  "  but  my  stripes  are  none  so 
ould  that  I  can  afford  to  lose  thim.  Tell  me  now,  who 
do  I  go  out  wid?"  sez  I. 

'  He  was  a  quick  man  an'  a  just,  an'  saw  fwhat  I  wud 
be  afther.  "  Wid  Mrs.  Bragin's  husband,"  sez  he.  He 
might  ha'  known  by  me  askin'  that  favour  that  I  had 
done  him  no  wrong. 

4  We  wint  to  the  back  av  the  arsenal  an'  I  stripped 
to  him,  an'  for  ten  minutes  'twas  all  I  cud  do  to  pre- 
vent him  killin'  himself  against  my  fistes.  He  was  mad 
as  a  dumb  dog  —  just  frothing  wid  rage ;  but  he  had 
no  chanst  wid  me  in  reach,  or  learnin',  or  anything 
else. 


54  THE   SOLID   MULDOON 

" '  Will  ye  hear  reason  ? "  sez  I,  whin  his  first  wind 
was  run  out. 

4 "  Not  whoile  I  can  see,"  sez  he.  Wid  that  I  gave 
him  both,  one  after  the  other,  smash  through  the  low 
gyard  that  he'd  been  taught  whin  he  was  a  boy,  an'  the 
eyebrow  shut  down  on  the  cheek-bone  like  the  wing  av 
a  sick  crow. 

t «  \\Tjll  yOU  hear  reason  now,  ye  brave  man?  "  sez  I. 

' "  Not  whoile  I  can  speak,"  sez  he,  staggerin'  up 
blind  as  a  stump.  I  was  loath  to  do  ut,  but  I  wint 
round  an'  swung  into  the  jaw  side-on  an'  shifted  ut  a 
half  pace  to  the  lef, 

'"Will  ye  hear  reason  no\v?"sez  I;  "I  can't  keep 
my  timper  much  longer,  an'  'tis  like  I  will  hurt  you." 

' "  Not  whoile  I  can  stand,"  he  mumbles  out  av  one 
corner  av  his  mouth.  So  I  closed  an'  threw  him — 
blind,  dumb,  an'  sick,  an'  jammed  the  jaw  straight. 

'  "  You're  an  ould  fool,  Mister  Bragin,"  sez  I. 

' "  You're  a  young  thief,"  sez  he,  "  an'  you've  bruk 
my  heart,  you  an'  Annie  betune  you !  '* 

'  Thin  he  began  cryin'  like  a  child  as  he  lay.  I  was 
sorry  as  I  had  niver  been  before.  'Tis  an  awful  thing 
to  see  a  strong  man  cry. 

' "  I'll  swear  on  the  Cross ! "  sez  I. 

' "  I  care  for  none  av  your  oaths,"  sez  he. 

'"Come  back  to  your  quarters,"  sez  I,  "an"  if  you 
don't  believe  the  livin',  begad,  you  shall  listen  to  the 
dead,"  I  sez. 

'  I  hoisted  him  an  tuk  him  back  to  his  quarters. 
"  Mrs.  Bragin,"  sez  I,  "  here's  a  man  that  you  can  cure 
quicker  than  me." 

4 "  You've  shamed  me  before  my  wife,"  he  whimpers. 

'"Have  I  so?"  sez  I.     "By  the  look  on  Mrs.  Bragin's 


THE   SOLID   MULDOON  55 

face  I  think  I'm  for  a  dhressin'-down  worse  than  I  gave 

you." 

'  An'  I  was  I  Annie  Bragin  was  woild  wid  indigna- 
tion. There  was  not  a  name  that  a  dacint  woman  cud 
use  that  was  not  given  my  way.  I've  had  my  Colonel 
walk  roun'  me  like  a  cooper  roun'  a  cask  for  fifteen 
minuts  in  Ord'ly  Room,  bekaze  I  wint  into  the  Corner 
Shop  an  unstrapped  lewnatic ;  but  all  that  I  iver  tuk 
from  his  rasp  av  a  tongue  was  ginger-pop  to  fwhat 
Annie  tould  me.  An'  that,  mark  you,  is  the  way  av  a 
woman. 

'  Whin  ut  was  done  for  want  av  breath,  an'  Annie 
was  bendin'  over  her  husband,  I  sez  :  "  "Pis  all  thrue, 
an'  I'm  a  blayguard  an'  you're  an  honest  woman ;  but 
will  you  tell  him  of  wan  service  that  I  did  you  ?  " 

'  As  I  finished  speakin'  the  Corp'ril  man  came  up  to 
the  veranda,  an'  Annie  Bragin  shquealed.  The  moon 
was  up,  an'  we  cud  see  his  face. 

' "  I  can't  find  her,"  sez  the  Corp'ril  man,  an'  wint 
out  like  the  puff  av  a  candle. 

' "  Saints  stand  betune  us  an'  evil ! "  sez  Bragin, 
crossin'  himself ;  "  that's  Flahy  av  the  Tyrone." 

' "  Who  was  he  ?  "  I  sez,  "  for  he  has  given  me  a  dale 
av  fightin'  this  day." 

'  Bragin  tould  us  that  Flahy  was  a  Corp'ril  who  lost 
his  wife  av  cholera  in  those  quarters  three  years  gone 
an'    wint   mad,   an'   walked    afther    they   buried   hini, 
huntin'  for  her. 

' "  Well,"  sez  I  to  Bragin,  "  he's  been  hookin'  out  av 
Purgathory  to  kape  company  wid  Mrs.  Bragin  ivry 
erenin'  for  the  last  fortnight.  You  may  tell  Mrs. 
Quinn,  wid  my  love,  for  I  know  that  she's  been  talkin' 
to  you,  an'  you've  been  listenin',  that  she  ought  to 


56  THE  SOLID  MULDOON 

ondherstand  the  differ  'twixt  a  man  an'  a  ghost.  She's 
had  three  husbands,"  sez  I,  "  an'  you\Q  got  a  wife  too 
good  for  you.  Instid  av  which  you  lave  her  to  be 
boddered  by  ghosts  an'  —  an'  all  manner  av  evil 
spirruts.  I'll  niver  go  talkin'  in  the  way  av  politeness 
to  a  man's  wife  again.  Good-night  to  you  both,"  sez  I  ; 
an'  wid  that  I  wint  away,  havin'  fought  wid  woman, 
man  and  Divil  all  in  the  heart  av  an  hour.  By  the 
same  token  I  gave  Father  Victor  wan  rupee  to  say  a 
mass  for  Flahy's  soul,  me  havin'  discommoded  him  by 
shticking  my  fist  into  his  systim.' 

'Your  ideas  of  politeness  seem   rather  large,   MuJ 
vaney,'  I  said. 

*  That's  as  you  look  at  ut,'  said  Mulvaney  calmly  , 
4  Annie  Bragin  niver  cared  for  me.  For  all  that,  I  did 
not  want  to  leave  anything  behin'  me  that  Bragin  could 
take  hould  av  to  be  angry  wid  her  about  —  whin  an 
honust  wurrd  cud  ha'  cleared  all  up.  There's  nothing 
like  opin-speakin'.  Orth'ris,  ye  scutt^  let  me  put  me  oi 
to  that  bottle,  for  my  throat's  as  dhry  as  whin  I  thought 
I  wud  get  a  kiss  from  Annie  Bragin.  An'  that's  four- 
teen years  gone  !  Eyah !  Cork's  own  city  an'  the  blue 
sky  above  ut  —  an'  the  times  that  was  —  the  times  that 
was !' 


WITH  THE  MAIN   GUARD 

Der  jungere  Uhlanen 
Sit  round  mit  open  mouth 
While  Breitmann  tell  dem  st dories 
Of  fightin'  in  the  South ; 
Und  gif  dem  moral  lessons, 
How  before  der  battle  pops, 
Take  a  little  prayer  to  Himmel 
Und  a  goot  long  drink  of  Schnapps. 

Hans  Breitmann'1 '«  Ballads. 

•  MARY,  Mother  av  Mercy,  fwhat  the  divil  possist  us 
to  take  an'  kape  this  melancolious  counthry  ?  Answer 
me  that,  Sorr.' 

It  was  Mulvaney  who  was  speaking.  The  time  was 
one  o'clock  of  a  stifling  June  night,  and  the  place  was 
the  main  gate  of  Fort  Amara,  most  desolate  and  least  de- 
sirable of  all  fortresses  in  India.  What  I  was  doing  there 
at  that  hour  is  a  question  which  only  concerns  M'Grath 
the  Sergeant  of  the  Guard,  and  the  men  on  the  gate. 

'  Slape,'  said  Mulvaney,  '  is  a  shuparfluous  necessity. 
This  gyard'll  shtay  lively  till  relieved.'  He  himself 
was  stripped  to  the  waist ;  Learoyd  on  the  next  bed- 
stead was  dripping  from  the  skinful  of  water  which 
Ortheris,  clad  only  in  white  trousers,  had  just  sluiced 
over  his  shoulders  ;  and  a  fourth  private  was  mutter- 
ing uneasily  as  he  dozed  open-mouthed  in  the  glare  of 
the  great  guard-lantern.  The  heat  under  the  bricked 
archway  was  terrifying. 

57 


58  WITH  THE   MAIN  GUARD 

4  The  worrst  night  that  iver  I  remimber.  Eyah !  Is 
all  Hell  loose  this  tide?'  said  Mulvaney.  A  puff  of 
burning  wind  lashed  through  the  wicket-gate  like  a 
wave  of  the  sea,  and  Ortheris  swore. 

4  Are  ye  more  heasy,  Jock?'  he  said  to  Learoyd. 
*  Put  yer  'ead  between  your  legs.  It'll  go  orf  in  a 
minute.' 

'  Ah  don't  care.  Ah  would  not  care,  but  ma  heart 
is  plaayin'  tiwy-tiwy  on  ma  ribs.  Let  me  die ! 
Oh,  leave  me  die  I '  groaned  the  huge  Yorkshireman, 
who  was  feeling  the  heat  acutely,  being  of  fleshly 
build. 

The  sleeper  under  the  lantern  roused  for  a  moment 
and  raised  himself  on  his  elbow.  — '  Die  and  be  damned 
then  ! '  he  said.  '  jTm  damned  and  I  can't  die  I ' 

'  Who's  that  ? '  I  whispered,  for  the  voice  was  new 
to  me. 

'Gentleman  born,'  said  Mulvaney;  '  Corp'ril  wan 
year,  Sargint  nex'.  Red-hot  011  his  C'mission,  but 
dhrinks  like  a  fish.  He'll  be  gone  before  the  cowld 
weather's  here.  So  ! ' 

He  slipped  his  boot,  and  with  the  naked  toe  just 
touched  the  trigger  of  his  Martini.  Ortheris  mis- 
understood the  movement,  and  the  next  instant  the 
Irishman's  rifle  was  dashed  aside,  while  Ortheris  stood 
before  him,  his  eyes  blazing  with  reproof. 

'  You  ! '  said  Ortheris.  '  My  Gawd,  you  I  If  it  was 
you,  wot  would  we  do  ?  ' 

4  Kape  quiet,  little  man,'  said  Mulvaney,  putting  him 
aside,  but  very  gently;  '  'tis  not  me,  nor  will  ut  be 
me  whoile  Dinah  Shadd's  here.  I  was  but  showin' 
something. ' 

Learoyd,  bowed  on  his  bedstead,  groaned,  and  the 


WITH    THE  MAIN   GUARD  59 

gentleman-ranker  sighed  in  his  sleep.  Ortheris  to 
Mulvaney's  tendered  pouch  and  we  three  smoked  gravely 
for  a  space  while  the  dust-devils  danced  on  the  glacis  an' 
scoured  the  red-hot  plain. 

'Pop?'  said  Ortheris,  wiping  his  forehead. 

'  Don't  tantalise  wid  talkin'  av  dhrink,  or  I'll  shtuff  you 
into  your  own  breech-block  an'  —  fire  you  off!'  grunted 
Mulvaney. 

Ortheris  chuckled,  and  from  a  niche  in  the  veranda 
produced  six  bottles  of  gingerade. 

'Where  did  ye  get  ut,  ye  Machiavel?'  said  Mulvaney. 
'  'Tis  no  bazar  pop.' 

"Ow  do  Hi  know  wot  the  Orf'cers  drink?'  answered 
Ortheris.  'Arst  the  mess-man.' 

'Ye'll  have  a  Disthrict  Coort-martial  settin'  on  ye 
yet,  me  son,'  said  Mulvaney,  'but' — he  opened  a 
bottle  — '  I  will  not  report  ye  this  time.  Fwhat's 
in  the  mess-kid  is  mint  for  the  belly,  as  they  say, 
'specially  whin  that  mate  is  dhrink.  Here's  luck!  A 
bloody  war  or  a  —  no,  we've  got  the  sickly  season. 
War,  thin !'  —  he  waved  the  innocent  '  pop'  to  the 
four  quarters  of  Heaven.  'Bloody  war!  North, 
East,  South,  an'  West!  Jock,  ye  quakin'  hayrick,  come 
an'  dhrink.  ' 

But  Learoyd,  half  mad  with  the  fear  of  death  presaged 
in  the  swelling  veins  of  his  neck,  was  begging  his  Maker 
to  strike  him  dead,  and  fighting  for  more  air  between  his 
prayers.  A  second  time  Ortheris  drenched  the  quivering 
body  with  water,  and  the  giant  revived. 

'An'  Ah  divn't  see  thot  a  mon  is  i'  fettle  for  gooin' 
on  to  live;  an'  Ah  divn't  see  thot  there  is  owt  for  t'  livin' 
for.  Hear  now,  lads!  Ah'm  tired  —  tired.  There's 
nobbut  watter  i'  ma  bones.  Let  me  die!' 


faO  WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD 

The  hollow  of  the  arch  gave  back  Learoyd's  broken 
whisper  in  a  bass  boom.  Mulvaney  looked  at  me  hope- 
lessly, but  I  remembered  how  the  madness  of  despair 
had  once  fallen  upon  Ortheris,  that  weary,  weary  after- 
noon in  the  banks  of  the  Khemi  River,  and  how  it  had 
been  exorcised  by  the  skilful  magician  Mulvaney. 

4  Talk,  Terence  ! '  I  said,  '  or  we  shall  have  Learoyd 
slinging  loose,  and  he'll  be  worse  than  Ortheris  was. 
Talk  !  He'll  answer  to  your  voice.' 

Almost  before  Ortheris  had  deftly  thrown  all  the 
rifles  of  the  Guard  on  Mulvaney's  bedstead,  the  Irish- 
man's voice  was  uplifted  as  that  of  one  in  the  middle 
of  a  story,  and,  turning  to  me,  he  said  — 

4  In  barricks  or  out  of  it,  as  you  say,  Sorr,  an  Oirish 
rig'mint  is  the  divil  an'  more.  'Tis  only  fit  for  a 
young  man  wid  eddicated  fisteses.  Oh  the  crame  av 
disruption  is  an  Oirish  rig'mint,  an'  rippin'.  tearin'. 
ragin'  scattherers  in  the  field  av  war  !  My  first  rig'- 
mint was  Oirish  —  Faynians  an'  rebils  to  the  heart  av 
their  marrow  was  they,  an'  so  they  fought  for  the  Widdy 
betther  than  most,  bein'  contrairy  —  Oirish.  They  was 
the  Black  Tyrone.  You've  heard  av  thim,  Sorr  ? 

Heard  of  them !  I  knew  the  Black  Tyrone  for  the 
choicest  collection  of  unmitigated  blackguards,  dog- 
staalars,  robbers  of  hen-roosts,  assaulters  of  innocent 
citizens,  and  recklessly  daring  heroes  in  the  Army 
List.  Half  Europe  and  half  Asia  has  had  cause  to 
know  the  Black  Tyrone  —  good  luck  be  with  their  tat- 
tered Colours  as  Glory  has  ever  been  ! 

4  They  was  hot  pickils  an'  ginger !  I  cut  a  man's 
head  tu  deep  wid  my  belt  in  the  days  av  my  youth, 
an',  aftller  some  circumstances  which  I  will  oblither- 
ate,  I  came  to  the  Ould  Rig'mint,  bearin'  the  char- 


\V1TH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  6J 

acter  ay  a  man  wid  hands  an'  feet.  But,  as  I  was 
goin'  to  tell  you,  I  fell  acrost  the  Black  Tyrone 
agin  wan  day  whin  we  wanted  thim  powerful  bad. 
Orth'ris,  me  son,  fwhat  was  the  name  av  that  place 
where  they  shit  wan  comp'iiy  av  us  an'  wan  av  the 
Tyrone  roun'  a  hill  an'  down  again,  all  for  to  tache 
the  Paythans  something  they'd  niver  learned  before? 
Afther  Ghuzni  'twas/ 

'Don't  know  what  the  bloomin'  Paythans  called  it. 
We  called  it  Silver's  Theayter.     You  know  that,  sure  ! ' 

*  Silver's   Theatre  —  so  'twas.      A  gut   betune  two 
hills,  as  black  as  a  bucket,  an'  as  thin  as  a  girl's  waist. 
There  was  over-many  Paythans  for  our  convaynience 
in  the  gut,  an'  begad  they  called  thimselves  a  Reserve 
—  bein'  impident  by  natur !     Our  Scotchies  _,n'  lashins 
av  Gurkys  was  poundin'  into  some  Paythan  rig'mints, 
I  think  'twas.     Scotchies  an'  Gurkys  are  twins  beka23 
they're  so  onlike,  an'  they  get  dhrunk  together  whin 
God  plazes.     As  I  was  sayin',  they  sint  wan  comp'ny 
av  the  Ould  an'  wan  av  the  Tyrone  to  double  up  the 
hill  an'  clane  out  the  Paythan  Reserve.     Orf'cers  was 
scarce  in  thim  days,  fwhat  with  dysintry  an'  not  takin' 
care  av  thimselves,  an'  we  was  sint  out  wid  only  wan 
orf 'cer  for  the  comp'ny ;  but  he  was  a  Man  that  had 
his  feet  beneath  him,  an'  all  his  teeth  in  their  sockuts.' 

4  Who  was  he  ?  '  I  asked. 

*  Captain  O'Neil  —  Old  Crook  —  Cruikna-bulleen  — 
him  that  I  tould  ye  that  tale  av  whin  he  was  in  Burma.1 
Hah !     He  was  a  Man.     The  Tyrone  tuk  a  little  orf'cer 
bhoy,  but  divil  a  bit  was  he  in  command,  as  I'll  dimon- 
strate  presintly.     We  an'  they  came  over  the  brow  av 

1  Now  first  of  the  foemen  of  Boh  Da  Thone 
Was  Captain  O'Neil  of  the  Black  Tyrone. 

The  Ballad  of  Boh  Da,  Thone, 


62  WITH  THE   MAIN   GUARD 

the  hill,  wan  on  each  side  av  the  gut,  an'  there  was 
that  ondacint  Reserve  waitin'  down  below  like  rats  in  a 
pit. 

'"Howld  on,  men,"  sez  Crook,  who  tuk  a  mother's 
care  av  us  always.  "Howl  some  rocks  on  thim  by  way 
av  visitin'  kyards. "  We  hadn't  rowled  more  than  twinty 
bowlders,  an'  the  Paythans  was  beginnin'  to  swear  trem- 
enjus,  whin  the  little  orf  cer  bhoy  av  the  Tyrone  shqueaks 
out  acrost  the  valley: —  "Fwhat  the  devil  an'  all  are  you 
doin ',  shpoilin'  the  fun  for  my  men?  Do  ye  not  see  they  '11 
stand?" 

' "Faith,  that's  a  rare  pluckt  wan ! "  sez  Crook.  " Niver 
mind  the  rocks,  men.  Come  along  down  an'  take  tay 
widthim!" 

'"There's  damned  little  sugar  in  ut!"  sez  my  rear-rank 
man;  but  Crook  heard. 

:"Have  ye  not  all  got  spoons?"  he  sez,  laughin',  an' 
down  we  wint  as  fast  as  we  cud.  Learoyd  bein'  sick  at  the 
Base,  he,  av  coorse,  was  not  there. 

'Thot's  a  lie!'  said  Learoyd,  dragging  his  bedstead 
nearer.  'Ah  gotten  that  theer,  an'  you  knaw  it,  Mul- 
vaney.'  He  threw  up  his  arms,  and  from  the  right  arm- pit 
ran,  diagonally  through  the  fell  of  his  chest,  a  thin  white 
line  terminating  near  the  fourth  left  rib. 

'My  mind's  goin','  said  Mulvaney,  the  unabashed. 
'Ye  were  there.  Fwhat  I  was  thinkin'  of!  'Twas 
another  man,  av  coorse.  Well,  you'll  remimber  thin, 
Jock,  how  we  an'  the  Tyrone  met  wid  a  bang  at  the 
bottom  an'  got  jammed  past  all  movin'  among  the  Pay- 
thans.' 

'  Ow !  It  was  a  tight  'ole.  I  was  squeezed  till  I  thought 
I'd  bloomin'  well  bust,'  said  Ortheris,  rubbing  his  stomach 
meditatively. 


WITH    THE   MAIN   GUARD  63 

"Twas  no  place  for  a  little  man,  but  wan  little  man' 
—  Mulvaney  put  his  hand  on  Ortheris's  shoulder  — 
'saved  the  life  av  me.  There  we  shtuck,  for  divil  a  bit 
did  the  Paythans  flinch,  an'  divil  a  bit  dare  we;  our  busi- 
ness bein'  to  clear  'em  out.  An'  the  most  exthryordinar' 
thing  av  all  was  that  we  an'  they  just  rushed  into  each 
other's  arrums,  an'  there  was  no  firing  for  a  long  time. 
Nothin'  but  knife  an'  bay 'nit  when  we  cud  get  our  hands 
free:  an'  that  was  not  often.  We  was  breast-on  to  thim, 
an'  the  Tyrone  was  yelpin'  behind  av  us  in  a  way  I  didn't 
see  the  lean  av  at  first.  But  I  knew  later,  an'  so  did  the 
Paythans. 

'"Knee  to  knee!"  sings  out  Crook,  wid  a  laugh  whin 
the  rush  av  our  comin'  into  the  gut  shtopped,  an'  he  was 
huggin'  a  hairy  great  Paythan,  neither  bein'  able  to  do 
anything  to  the  other,  tho'  both  was  wishful. 

'"Breast  to  breast!"  he  sez,  as  the  Tyrone  was  pushin' 
us  forward  closer  an'  closer. 

'"An'  hand  over  back!"  sez  a  Sargint  that  was  behin'. 
I  saw  a  sword  lick  out  past  Crook's  ear,  an'  the  Paythan 
was  tuk  in  the  apple  av  his  throat  like  a  pig  at  Dromeen 
fair. 

'"Thank  ye.  Brother  Inner  Guard,"  sez  Crook,  cool 
as  a  cucumber  widout  salt.  "I  wanted  that  room." 
An'  he  wint  forward  by  the  thickness  av  a  man's  body, 
havin'  turned  the  Paythan  undher  him.  The  man  bit  the 
heel  off  Crook's  boot  in  his  death-bite. 

'"Push,  men!"  sez  Crook.  "Push,  ye  paper-backed 
beggars!"  he  sez.  "Am  I  to  pull  ye  through?"  So 
we  pushed,  an'  we  kicked,  an'  we  swung,  an'  we  swore, 
an'  the  grass  bein'  slippery,  our  heels  wouldn't  bite, 
an'  God  help  the  front-rank  man  that  wint  down  that 
day!' 


64  WITH  THE   MAIN  GUARD 

4  'Ave  you  ever  bin  in  the  Pit  hentrance  o'  the  Vic. 
on  a  thick  night  ? '  interrupted  Ortheris.  4  It  was 
worse  nor  that,  for  they  was  goin'  one  way  an'  we 
wouldn't  'ave  it.  Leastaways,  I  'adn't  much  to  say.' 

4  Faith,  me  son,  ye  said  ut,  thin  I  kep'  the  little 
man  betune  my  knees  as  long  as  I  cud,  but  he  was 
pokin'  roun'  wid  his  bay'nit,  blindin'  an'  stiffin'  fero- 
shus.  The  devil  of  a  man  is  Orth'ris  in  a  ruction  — 
aren't  ye  ? '  said  Mulvaney. 

4  Don't  make  game  ! '  said  the  Cockney.  4 1  knowed 
I  wasn't  no  good  then,  but  I  guv  'em  compot  from  the 
lef  flank  when  we  opened  out.  No  ! '  he  said,  bring- 
ing down  his  hand  with  a  thump  on  the  bedstead,  4  a 
bay'nit  ain't  no  good  to  a  little  man — might  as  well 
'ave  a  bloomin'  fishin'-rod !  I  'ate  a  clawin',  maulin' 
mess,  but  gimme  a  breech  that's  wore  out  a  bit,  an' 
hamrninition  one  year  in  store,  to  let  the  powder  kiss 
the  bullet,  an'  put  me  somewheres  where  I  ain't  trod 
on  by  'ulkin  swine  like  you,  an'  s'elp  me  Gawd,  I  could 
bowl  you  over  five  times  outer  seven  at  height  'undred. 
Would  yer  try,  you  lumberin'  Hirishman.' 

4  No,  ye  wasp.  I've  seen  ye  do  ut.  I  say  there's 
nothin'  better  than  the  bay'nit,  wid  a  long  reach,  a 
double  twist  av  ye  can,  an'  a  slow  recover.' 

4  Dom  the  bay'nit,'  said  Learoyd,  who  had  been 
listening  intently.  '  Look  a-here  !  '  He  picked  up  a 
rifle  an  inch  below  the  foresight  with  an  underhand 
action,  and  used  it  exactly  as  a  man  would  use  a 
dagger. 

4  Sitha,'  said  he  softly,  '  thot's  better  than  owt,  for  a 
mon  can  bash  t'  faace  wi'  thot,  an',  if  he  divn't,  he  can 
breeak  t'  forearm  o'  t'  gaard.  "Tis  not  i'  t'  books, 
though.  Gie  me  t'  butt.' 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUAED  66 

*  Each  does  ut  his  own  way,  like  makin'  love,'  said 
Mulvaney  quietly;  'the  butt  or  the  bay 'nit  or  the 
bullet  accordin'  to  the  natur'  av  the  man.  Well,  as  I 
was  sayin',  we  shtuck  there  breathin'  in  each  other's 
faces  and  swearin'  powerful;  Orth'ris  cursin'  the 
mother  that  bore  him  bekaze  he  was  not  three  inches 
taller. 

4  Prisintly  he  sez  :  —  "  Duck,  ye  lump,  an'  I  can  get 
at  a  man  over  your  shouldher !  " 

4  "  You'll  blow  me  head  off,"  I  sez,  throwin'  my  arm 
clear;  "go  through  under  my  arm-pit,  ye  bloodthirsty 
little  scutt,"  sez  I,  "but  don't  shtick  me  or  I'll  wring 
your  ears  round." 

'Fwhat  was  ut  ye  gave  the  Paythan  man  forninst 
me,  him  that  cut  at  me  whin  I  cudn't  move  hand  or 
foot  ?  Hot  or  cowld  was  ut  ?  * 

'  Cold,'  said  Ortheris,  4  up  an'  under  the  rib-jint.  'E 
come  down  flat.  Best  for  you  'e  did.' 

k  Thrue,  my  son !  This  jam  thing  that  I'm  talkin' 
about  lasted  for  five  minutes  good,  an'  thin  we  got 
our  arms  clear  an'  wint  in.  I  misreniimber  exactly 
fwhat  I  did,  but  I  didn't  want  Dinah  to  be  a  widdy 
at  the  Depot.  Thin,  after  some  promishkuous  hackin' 
we  shtuck  again,  an'  the  Tyrone  beliin'  was  callin'  us 
dogs  an*  cowards  an'  all  manner  av  names;  we  barrin' 
their  way. 

k" Fwhat  ails  the  Tyrone ?"  thinks  I;  "they've  the 
makin's  av  a  most  convanient  fight  here." 

'  A  man  behind  me  sez  beseeclif  ul  an  in  a  whisper  : 
—  "  Let  me  get  at  thirn  !  For  the  Love  av  Mary  give 
me  room  beside  ye,  ye  tall  man  !  " 

"'An'  who  are  you  that's  so  anxious  to  be  kilt?" 
sez  I,  widout  turnin'  my  head,  for  the  long  knives  was 


66  WITH    THE   MAIN   GUARD 

dancin'  in  front  like  the  sun  on  Donegal  Bay  whin  ut's 
rough. 

'"We've  seen  our  dead,"  he  sez,  squeezin*  into  me; 
"our  dead  that  was  men  two  days  gone!  An'  me  that 
was  his  cousin  by  blood  could  not  bring  Tim  Coulan 
off!  Let  me  get  on,"  he  sez,  "let  me  get  to  thim  or  I'll 
run  ye  through  the  back!" 

'"My  troth,"  thinks  I,  "if  the  Tyrone  have  seen 
their  dead,  God  help  the  Paythans  this  day!"  An' 
thin  I  knew  why  the  Oirish  was  ragin'  behind  us  as 
they  was. 

'I  gave  room  to  the  man,  an'  he  ran  forward  wid  the 
Haymakers'  Lift  on  his  bay 'nit  an'  swung  a  Paythan 
clear  off  his  feet  by  the  belly-band  av  the  brute,  an'  the 
iron  bruk  at  the  lockin'-ring. 

'"Tim  Coulan'll  slape  easy  to-night,"  sez  he  wid  a  grin; 
an'  the  next  minut  his  head  was  in  two  halves  and  he  wint 
down  grinnin'  by  sections. 

'The  Tyrone  was  pushin'  an'  pushin'  in,  an'  our  men 
was  swearin'  at  thim,  an'  Crook  was  workin'  away  in 
front  av  us  all,  his  sword-arm  swingin'  like  a  pump- 
handle  an'  his  revolver  spittin'  like  a  cat.  But  the 
strange  thing  av  ut  was  the  quiet  that  lay  upon. 
'Twas  like  a  fight  in  a  drame  —  except  for  thim  that 
was  dead. 

'Whin  I  gave  room  to  the  Oirishman  I  was  expinded 
an'  forlorn  in  my  inside.  'Tis  a  way  I  have,  savin'  your 
presince,  Sorr,  in  action.  "Let  me  out,  bhoys, "  sez  I, 
backin'  in  among  thim.  "I'm  goin'  to  be  onwell!" 
Faith  they  gave  me  room  at  the  wurrud,  though  they 
would  not  ha'  given  room  for  all  Hell  wid  the  chill  off. 
When  I  got  clear,  I  was,  savin'  your  presince,  Sorr, 
outragis  sick  bekaze  I  had  dhrunk  heavy  that  day. 


WITH  THE   MAIN   GUARD  67 

'Well  an'  far  out  av  harm  was  a  Sargint  av  the 
Tyrone  sittin'  on  the  little  orf 'cer  bhoy  who  had  stopped 
Crook  from  rowlin*  the  rocks.  Oh,  he  was  a  beautiful 
bhoy,  an'  the  long  black  curses  was  slidin'  out  av  his 
innociiit  mouth  like  mornin'-jew  from  a  rose  ! 

4 "  Fwhat  have  you  got  there  ? "  sez  I  to  the 
Sargint. 

4 "  Wan  av  Her  Majesty's  bantams  wid  his  spurs  up," 
sez  he.  "  He's  goin'  to  Coort-martial  me." 

4  "Let  me  go!"  sez  the  little  orf 'cer  bhoy.  "Let 
me  go  and  command  my  men !  "  manin'  thereby  the 
Black  Tyrone  which  was  beyond  any  command  —  ay, 
even  av  they  had  made  the  Divil  a  Field-orf'cer. 

4 "  His  father  howlds  my  mother's  cow-feed  in  Clon- 
mel,"  sez  the  man  that  was  sittin'  on  him.  "  Will  I  go 
back  to  his  mother  an'  tell  her  that  I've  let  him  throw 
himself  away?  Lie  still,  ye  little  pinch  av  dynamite, 
an'  Coort-martial  me  aftherwards." 

"Good,"  sez  I;  "'tis  the  likes  av  him  makes  the 
likes  av  the  Cominandher-in-Chief,  but  we  must  pre- 
sarve  thim.  Fwhat  d'  you  want  to  do,  Sorr  ?  "  sez  I, 
very  politeful. 

' "  Kill  the  beggars — kill  the  beggars ! "  he  shqueaks  ; 
his  big  blue  eyes  brimmin'  wid  tears. 

4 "  An'  how'll  ye  do  that  ?  "  sez  I.  "  You've  shquibbed 
off  your  revolver  like  a  child  wid  a  cracker ;  you  can 
make  no  play  wid  that  fine  large  sword  av  yours  ;  an' 
your  hand's  shakin'  like  an  asp  on  a  leaf.  Lie  still 
an'  grow,"  sez  I. 

4 "  Get  back  to  your  comp'ny, "  sez  he ;  "  you're 
insolint !  " 

4 "  All  in  good  time,"  sez  I,  "  but  I'll  have  a  dlirink 
first." 


68  WITH  THE   MAIN  GUARD 

'  Just  thin  Crook  comes  up,  blue  an'  white  all  over 
where  he  wasn't  red. 

4  "  Wather  !  "  sez  he  ;  "  I'm  dead  wid  drouth  I  Oh, 
bat  it's  a  gran'  day  !  " 

•  He  dhrank  half  a  skinful,  and  the  rest  he  tilts  into 
his  chest,  an'  it  fair  hissed  on  the  hairy  hide  av  him. 
He  sees  the  little  orf'cer  bhoy  undher  the  Sargint. 

'"Fwhat's  yonder?"  sez  he. 

* "  Mutiny,  Sorr,"  sez  the  Sargint,  an'  the  orf'cer 
bhoy  begins  pleadin'  pitiful  to  Crook  to  be  let  go  :  but 
divil  a  bit  wud  Crook  budge. 

44'Kape  him  there,"  he  sez,  "'tis  no  child's  work 
this  day.  By  the  same  token,"  sez  he,  *'  I'll  confish- 
cate  that  iligant  nickel-plated  scent-sprinkler  av  yours, 
for  my  own  has  been  vomitin'  dishgraceful !  " 

4  The  fork  av  his  hand  was  black  wid  the  backspit 
av  the  machine.  So  he  tuk  the  orf'cer  bhoy's  revolver. 
Ye  may  look,  Sorr,  but,  by  my  faith,  there's  a  dale  more 
done  in  the  field  than  iver  gets  into  Field  Ordhers  ! 

4 "Come  on,  Mulvaney,"  sez  Crook;  "is  this  a 
Coort-martial  ?  "  The  two  av  us  wint  back  together 
into  the  mess  an'  the  Paythaiis  were  stili  standin' 
up.  They  was  not  too  impart'nint  though,  for  the 
Tyrone  was  callin'  wan  to  another  to  renumber  Tim 
Coulan. 

'  Crook  stopped  outside  av  the  strife  an'  looked  anx- 
ious, his  eyes  rowlin'  roun'. 

4 "  Fwhat  is  ut,  Sorr  ? "  sez  I  ,  "  can  I  get  ye 
anything  ?  " 

'-  "  Where's  a  bugler  ?  "  sez  he. 

4 1  wint  into  the  crowd  —  our  men  was  dhrawin1 
breath  behin'  the  Tyrone  who  was  fightin'  like  sowls 
in  tormint — an'  prisintly  I  came  acrost  little  Frehtin, 


WITH   THE   MAIN   GUARD  69 

our  bugler  bhoy,  pokin'  roun'  among  the  best  wid  a 
rifle  an'  bay'nit. 

' "  Is  amusin'  yoursilf  fwhat  you're  paid  for,  ye 
limb  ?  "  sez  I,  catchin'  him  by  the  scruff.  "  Come  out 
av  that  an'  attind  to  your  duty,"  I  sez ;  but  the  bhoy 
was  not  pleased. 

'  "  I've  got  wan,"  sez  he,  grinnin',  "  big  as  you,  Mul- 
vaney,  an'  fair  half  as  ugly.  Let  me  go  get  another." 

'  I  was  dislipleased  at  the  personability  av  that  re- 
mark, so  I  tucks  him  under  my  arm  an'  carries  him  to 
Crook  who  was  watchin'  how  the  fight  wint.  Crook 
cuffs  him  till  the  bhoy  cries,  an'  thin  sez  nothin'  for  a 
whoile. 

'The  Paythans  began  to  flicker  onaisy,  an'  our 
men  roared.  "  Opin  ordher  !  Double  ! ';  sez  Crook. 
u  Blow,  child,  blow  for  the  honour  av  the  British 
Arrmy !  " 

1  That  bhoy  blew  like  a  typhoon,  an'  the  Tyrone  an' 
we  opined  out  as  the  Paythans  broke,  an'  I  saw  that 
fwhat  had  gone  before  wud  be  kissin'  an'  huggin' 
to  fwhat  was  to  come.  We'd  dhruv  thim  into  a 
broad  part  av  the  gut  whin  they  gave,  an'  thin  we 
opined  out  an'  fair  danced  down  the  valley,  dhrivin' 
thim  before  us.  Oh,  'twas  lovely,  an'  stiddy,  too  1 
There  was  the  Sargints  on  the  flanks  av  what  was 
left  av  us,  kapin'  touch,  an'  the  fire  was  runnin'  from 
flank  to  flank,  an'  the  Paythans  was  dhroppin'.  We 
opined  out  wid  the  widenin'  av  the  valley,  an'  whin 
the  valley  narrowed  we  closed  again  like  the  shticks 
on  a  lady's  fan,  an'  at  the  far  ind  av  the  gut  where 
they  thried  to  stand,  we  fair  blew  them  off  their  feet, 
for  we  had  expinded  very  little  ammunition  by  reason 
av  the  knife  work.' 


70  WITH  THE   MAIN   GUARD 

*  Hi  used  thirty  rounds  goin'  down  that  valley,'  said 
Ortheris, '  an'  it  was  gentleman's  work.  Might  'a'  done 
it  in  a  white  'andkerchief  an'  pink  silk  stockin's,  that 
part.  Hi  was  on  in  that  piece.' 

'  You  could  ha'  heard  the  Tyrone  yellin'  a  mile  away,' 
said  Mulvaney,  '  an'  'twas  all  their  Sargints  cud  do  to 
get  thim  off.  They  was  mad  —  mad  —  mad !  Crook 
sits  down  in  the  quiet  that  fell  whin  we  had  gone 
down  the  valley,  an'  covers  his  face  wid  his  hands. 
Prisintly  we  all  came  back  again  accordin'  to  our 
natures  and  disposishins,  for  they,  mark  you,  show 
through  the  hide  av  a  man  in  that  hour. 

' "  Bhoys  !  bhoys  !  "  sez  Crook  to  himself.  "  I  mis- 
doubt we  could  ha'  engaged  at  long  range  an'  saved 
betther  men  than  me."  He  looked  at  our  dead  an' 
said  no  more. 

' "  Captain  dear,"  sez  a  man  av  the  Tyrone,  comin' 
up  wid  his  mouth  bigger  than  iver  his  mother  kissed 
ut,  spittin'  blood  like  a  whale;  "Captain  dear,"  sez 
he,  "if  wan  or  two  in  the  shtalls  have  been  discom- 
moded, the  gallery  have  enjoyed  the  performinces  av  a 
Roshus." 

'  Thin  I  knew  that  man  for  the  Dublin  dock-rat  he 
was  —  wan  av  the  bho}rs  that  made  the  lessee  av  Sil- 
ver's Theatre  gray  before  his  time  wid  tearin'  out  the 
bowils  av  the  benches  an'  t'rowin'  thim  into  the  pit. 
So  I  passed  the  wurrud  that  I  knew  when  I  was  in  the 
Tyrone  an'  we  lay  in  Dublin.  "I  don't  know  who 
'twas,"  I  whispers,  "an'  I  don't  care,  but  anyways  I'll 
knock  the  face  av  you,  Tim  Kelly." 

'  "  Eyah!  "  sez  the  man,  "  was  you  there  too  ?  We'll 
call  ut  Silver's  Theatre."  Half  the  Tyrone,  knowin'  the 
ould  place,  tuk  ut  up  :  so  we  called  ut  Silver's  Theatre 


WITH  THE   MAIN   GUARD  71 

'The  little  orf'cer  bhoy  av  the  Tyrone  was  threm- 
blin'  an'  cryin'.  He  had  no  heart  for  the  Coort-Mar- 
Uals  that  he  talked  so  big  upon.  "  Ye'll  do  well  later," 
sez  Crook,  very  quiet,  "for  not  bein'  allowed  to  kill 
yourself  for  amusemint." 

4 "  I'm  a  dishgraced  man  ! "  sez  the  little  orf'cer 
bhoy. 

' "  Put  me  undher  arrest,  Sorr,  if  you  will,  but,  by 
my  sowl,  I'd  do  ut  again  sooner  than  face  your 
mother  wid  you  dead,"  sez  the  Sargint  that  had  sat 
on  his  head,  standin'  to  attention  an'  salutin'.  But 
the  young  wan  only  cried  as  tho'  his  little  heart  was 
breakin'. 

'  Thin  another  man  av  the  Tyrone  came  up,  wid  the 
fog  av  fightin'  on  him.' 

'  The  what,  Mulvaney? ' 

'  Fog  av  fightin'.  You  know,  Sorr,  that,  like  makin' 
love,  ut  takes  each  man  diff'rint.  Now  I  can't  help 
bein'  powerful  sick  whin  I'm  in  action.  Orth'ris,  here, 
niver  stops  swearin'  from  ind  to  ind,  an'  the  only  time 
that  Learoyd  opins  his  mouth  to  sing  is  whin  he  is 
messin'  wid  other  people's  heads  ;  for  he's  a  dhirty 
fighter  is  Jock.  Recruities  sometime  cry,  an'  sometime 
they  don't  know  fwhat  they  do,  an'  sometime  they  are 
all  for  cuttin'  throats  an'  such  like  dirtiness  ;  but  some 
men  get  heavy-dead-dhrunk  on  the  fightin'.  This  man 
was.  He  was  staggerin',  an'  his  eyes  were  half  shut, 
an'  Ave  cud  hear  him  dhraw  breath  twiuty  yards 
away.  He  sees  the  little  orf'cer  bhoy,  an'  comes  up, 
talkin'  thick  an'  drowsy  to  himsilf .  "  Blood  the  young 
whelp!"  he  sez;  "blood  the  young  whelp";  an'  wid 
that  he  threw  up  his  arms,  shpun  roun',  an'  dropped  at 
our  feet,  dead  as  a  Paythan,  an'  there  was  niver  sign 


72  WITH  THE   MAIN  GUARD 

or  scratch  on  him.    They  said  'twas  his  heart  was  rot- 
ten, but  oh,  'twas  a  quare  thing  to  see  ! 

4  Thin  we  wint  to  bury  our  dead,  for  we  wud  not 
lave  thim  to  the  Paythans,  an'  in  movin'  among  the 
hay  then  we  nearly  lost  that  little  orf'cer  bhoy,  He 
was  for  givin'  wan  divil  wather  and  layin'  him  aisy 
against  a  rock.  "  Be  careful,  Sorr,"  sez  I ;  "a  wounded 
Paythan's  worse  than  a  live  wan."  My  troth,  before 
the  words  was  out  of  my  mouth,  the  man  on  the  ground 
fires  at  the  orf'cer  bhoy  lanin'  over  him,  an'  I  saw  the 
helniit  fly.  I  dropped  the  butt  on  the  face  av  the  man 
an'  tuk  his  pistol.  The  little  orf'cer  bhoy  turned  very 
white,  for  the  hair  av  half  his  head  was  singed  away. 

'  "  I  tould  you  so,  Sorr !  "  sez  I ;  an',  afther  that,  whin 
he  wanted  to  help  a  Paythan  I  stud  wid  the  muzzle 
contagious  to  the  ear.  They  dare  not  do  anythin'  but 
curse.  The  Tyrone  was  growlin'  like  dogs  over  a  bone 
that  had  been  taken  away  too  soon,  for  they  had  seen 
their  dead  an'  they  wanted  to  kill  ivry  sowl  on  the 
ground.  Crook  tould  thim  that  he'd  blow  the  hide  off 
any  man  that  misconducted  himself ;  but,  seeing  that 
ut  was  the  first  time  the  Tyrone  had  iver  seen  their 
dead,  I  do  not  wondlier  they  were  on  the  sharp.  'Tis 
a  shameful  sight  I  Whin  I  first  saw  ut  I  wud  niver 
ha'  given  quarter  to  any  man  north  of  the  Khaibar  — 
no,  nor  woman  either,  for  the  women  used  to  come 
out  afther  dhark  —  Auggrh! 

'  Well,  evenshually  we  buried  our  dead  an'  tuk  away 
our  wounded,  an'  come  over  the  brow  av  the  hills  to 
see  the  Scotchies  an'  the  Gurkys  taking  tay  with  the 
Paythans  in  bucketsfuls.  We  were  a  gang  av  dissolute 
ruffians,  for  the  blood  had  caked  the  dust,  an'  the  sweat 
had  cut  the  cake,  an'  our  bay'nits  was  hangin'  like 


WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD  73 

butchers'  steels  betune  ur  legs,  an'  most  av  us  were 
marked  one  way  or  another. 

*  A  Staff  Orf'cer  man,  clean  as  a  new  rifle,  rides  up 
an'  sez  :  "  What  damned  scarecrows  are  you  ?  " 

"'A  comp'ny  av  Her  Majesty's  Black  Tyrone  an' 
wan  av  the  Ould  Rig'mint,"  sez  Crook  very  quiet, 
givin'  our  visitors  the  flure  as  'twas. 

4 "  Oh !  "  sez  the  Staff  Orf'cer  ;  "  did  you  dislodge 
that  Reserve  ?  " 

4 "  No  !  "  sez  Crook,  an'  the  Tyrone  laughed. 

4 "Thin  fwhat  the  divil  have  ye  done?  " 

'"Disthroyed  ut,"  sez  Crook,  an'  he  took  us  on,  but 
not  before  Toomey  that  was  in  the  Tyrone  sez  aloud, 
his  voice  somewhere  in  his  stummick  :  "  Fwhat  in  the 
name  av  misfortune  does  this  parrit  widout  a  tail  mane 
by  shtoppin'  the  road  av  his  betthers  ?  " 

'  The  Staff  Orf'cer  wint  blue,  an'  Toomey  makes  him 
pink  by  changin'  to  the  voice  av  a  rninowderin'  woman 
an'  sayin' :  "Come  an'  kiss  me,  Major  dear,  for  me  hus- 
band's at  the  wars  an'  I'm  all  alone  at  the  Depot." 

4  The  Staff  Orf'cer  wint  away,  an'  I  cud  see  Crook's 
shoulthers  shakin'. 

'His  Corp'ril  checks  Toomey.  "Lave  me  alone," 
sez  Toomey,  widout  a  wink.  "  I  was  his  batman  be- 
fore he  was  married  an'  he  knows  fwhat  I  mane,  av 
you  don't.  There's  nothin'  like  livin'  in  the  hoight  av 
society."  D'you  remimber  that,  Orth'ris! ' 

'  Hi  do.  Toomey,  'e  died  in  'orspital,  next  week  it 
was,  'cause  I  bought  'arf  his  kit ;  an'  I  remember  after 
that ' 

'  GUARRD,  TUKN  OUT  !  ' 

The  Relief  had  come ;  it  was  four  o'clock.  '  I'll 
catch  a  kyart  for  you,  Sorr,'  said  Mulvaney,  diving 


74  WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD 

hastily  into  his  accoutrements.  '  Come  up  to  the  top 
av  the  Fort  an'  we'll  pershue  our  invistigations  into 
M'Grath's  shtable.'  The  relieved  Guard  strolled  round 
the  main  bastion  on  its  way  to  the  swimming-bath,  and 
Learoyd  grew  almost  talkative.  Ortheris  looked  into 
the  Fort  ditch  and  across  the  plain.  *  Ho  !  it's  weary 
waitin'  for  Ma-ary  I '  he  hummed  ;  '  but  I'd  like  to  kill 
some  more  bloomin'  Paythans  before  my  time's  up. 
War!  Bloody  war  !  North,  East,  South,  and  West.' 

'  Amen,'  said  Learoyd  slowly. 

4  Fwhat's  here  ? '  said  Mulvaney,  checking  at  a  blur  of 
white  by  the  foot  of  the  old  sentry-box.  He  stooped 
and  touched  it.  '  It's  Norah  —  Norah  M'Taggart  I 
Why,  Nonie  darlin',  fwhat  are  ye  doin'  out  av  your 
mother's  bed  at  this  time  ? ' 

The  two -year-old  child  of  Sergeant  M'Taggart  must 
have  wandered  for  a  breath  of  cool  air  to  the  very  verge 
of  the  parapet  of  the  Fort  ditch.  Her  tiny  night-shift 
was  gathered  into  a  wisp  round  her  neck  and  she  moaned 
in  her  sleep.  '  See  there  ! '  said  Mulvaney ;  'poor  lamb! 
Look  at  the  heat-rash  on  the  innocint  skin  av  her.  '  Tis 
hard  —  crool  hard  even  for  us.  Fwhat  must  it  be  for 
these  ?  Wake  up,  Nome,  your  mother  will  be  woild  about 
you.  Begad,  the  child  might  ha'  fallen  into  the  ditch  ! ' 

He  picked  her  up  in  the  growing  light,  and  set  her  on 
his  shoulder,  and  her  fair  curls  touched  the  grizzled 
stubble  of  his  temples.  Ortheris  and  Learoyd  followed 
snapping  their  fingers,  while  Norah  smiled  at  them  a 
sleepy  smile.  Then  carolled  Mulvaney,  clear  as  a  lark, 
dancing  the  baby  on  his  arm  - 

'  If  any  young  man  should  marry  you, 

Say  nothin'  about  the  joke ; 
That  iver  ye  slep'  in  a  sinthry-box, 
Wrapped  up  in  a  soldier's  cloak.' 


WITH  THE  MAIN   GUARD  75 

*  Though,  on  my  sowl,  Nonie,'  he  said  gravely,  '  there 
was  not  much  cloak  about  you.  Niver  mind,  you  won't 
dhress  like  this  ten  years  to  come.  Kiss  your  friends 
an'  run  along  to  your  mother.' 

Nonie,  set  down  close  to  the  Married  Quarters,  nodded 
with  the  quiet  obedience  of  the  soldier's  child,  but,  ere 
she  pattered  off  over  the  flagged  path,  held  up  her  lips 
to  be  kissed  by  the  Three  Musketeers.  Ortheris  wiped 
his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand  and  swore  senti- 
mentally ;  Learoyd  turned  pink  ;  and  the  two  walked 
away  together.  The  Yorkshireman  lifted  up  his  voice 
and  gave  in  thunder  the  chorus  of  The  Sentry-Box,  while 
Ortheris  piped  at  his  side. 

4  'Bin  to  a  bloomin'  sing-song,  you  two  ? '  said  the 
Artilleryman,  who  was  taking  his  cartridge  down  to 
the  Morning  Gun.  *  You're  over  merry  for  these  dashed 

days/ 

'  I  bid  ye  take  care  o'  the  brat,  said  he, 
For  it  comes  of  a  noble  race,' 

Learoyd  bellowed.  The  voices  died  out  in  the  swim- 
ming-bath. 

4  Oh,  Terence  !'  I  said,  dropping  into  Mulvaney's 
speech,  when  we  were  alone,  4  it's  you  that  have  the 
Tongue  I ' 

He  looked  at  me  wearily ;  his  eyes  were  sunk  in  his 
head,  and  his  face  was  drawn  and  white.  '  Eyah  !'  said 
he  ;  4  I've  blandandhered  thim  through  the  night  some- 
how, but  can  thim  that  helps  others  help  thimselves? 
Answer  me  that,  Sorr  ! ' 

And  over  the  bastions  of  Fort-Amara  broke  the  piti- 
less day. 


IN  THE   MATTER   OF  A  PRIVATE 

Hurrah  I  hurrah  1  a  soldier's  life  for  me ! 

Shout,  boys,  shout !  for  it  makes  you  jolly  and  free. 

The  Ramrod  Corps. 

PEOPLE  who  have  seen,  say  that  one  of  the  quaintest 
spectacles  of  human  frailty  is  an  outbreak  of  hysterics 
in  a  girls'  school.  It  starts  without  warning,  generally 
on  a  hot  afternoon,  among  the  elder  pupils.  A  girl 
giggles  till  the  giggle  gets  beyond  control.  Then  she 
throws  up  her  head,  and  cries,  'Honk,  honk,  honk,1  like 
a  wild  goose,  and  tears  mix  with  the  laughter.  If  the 
mistress  be  wise,  she  will  rap  out  something  severe  at 
this  point  to  check  matters.  If  she  be  tender-hearted, 
and  send  for  a  drink  of  water,  the  chances  are  largely 
in  favour  of  another  girl  laughing  at  the  afflicted  one 
and  herself  collapsing.  Thus  the  trouble  spreads,  and 
may  end  in  half  of  what  answers  to  the  Lower  Sixth  of 
a  boys'  school  rocking  and  whooping  together.  Given 
a  week  of  warm  weather,  two  stately  promenades  per 
diem,  a  heavy  mutton  and  rice  meal  in  the  middle  of 
the  day,  a  certain  amount  of  nagging  from  the  teachers, 
and  a  few  other  things,  some  amazing  effects  develop. 
At  least,  this  is  what  folk  say  who  have  had  experience. 

Now,  the  Mother  Superior  of  a  Convent  and  the 
Colonel  of  a  British  Infantry  Regiment  would  be  justly 
shocked  at  any  comparison  being  made  between  their 
respective  charges.  But  it  is  a  fact  that,  under  certain 

76 


IN  THE   MATTER   OF  A  PRIVATE  77 

circumstances,  Thomas  in  bulk  can  be  worked  up  into 
ditthering,  rippling  hysteria.  He  does  not  weep,  but  he 
shows  his  trouble  unmistakably,  and  the  consequences 
get  into  the  newspapers,  and  all  the  good  people  who 
hardly  know  a  Martini  from  a  Snider  say:  'Take  away 
the  brute's  ammunition  !  * 

Thomas  isn't  a  brute,  and  his  business,  which  is  to 
look  after  the  virtuous  people,  demands  that  he  shall 
have  his  ammunition  to  his  hand.  He  doesn't  wear  silk 
stockings,  and  he  really  ought  to  be  supplied  with  a  new 
Adjective  to  help  him  to  express  his  opinions :  but,  for 
all  that,  he  is  a  great  man.  If  you  call  him  '  the  heroic 
defender  of  the  national  honour '  one  day,  and  'a  brutal 
and  licentious  soldiery  '  the  next,  you  naturally  bewilder 
him,  and  he  looks  upon  you  with  suspicion.  There  is 
nobody  to  speak  for  Thomas  except  people  who  have 
theories  to  work  off  on  him ,  and  nobody  understands 
Thomas  except  Thomas,  and  he  does  not  always  know 
what  is  the  matter  with  himself. 

That  is  the  prologue.  This  is  the  story :  — 
Corporal  Slane  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Miss 
Jhansi  M'Kenna,  whose  history  is  well  known  in  the 
regiment  and  elsewhere.  He  had  his  Colonel's  permis- 
sion, and,  being  popular  with  the  men,  every  arrange- 
ment had  been  made  to  give  the  wedding  what  Private 
Ortheris  called  ;  eeklar.'  It  fell  in  the  heart  of  the  hot 
weather,  and,  after  the  wedding,  Slane  was  going  up  to 
the  Hills  with  the  bride.  None  the  less,  Slane's  griev- 
ance was  that  the  affair  would  be  only  a  hired-carriage 
wedding,  and  he  felt  that  the  '  eeklar '  of  that  was 
meagre.  Miss  M'Kenna  did  not  care  so  much.  The 
Sergeant's  wife  was  helping  her  to  make  her  wedding- 
dress,  and  she  was  very  busy.  Slane  was,  just  then, 


78  IN  THE   MATTER   OF  A  PRIVATE 

the  only  moderately  contented  man  in  barracks.  All 
the  rest  were  more  or  less  miserable. 

And  they  had  so  much  to  make  them  happy,  too. 
All  their  work  was  over  at  eight  in  the  morning,  and 
for  the  rest  of  the  day  they  could  lie  on  their  backs  and 
smoke  Canteen-plug  and  swear  at  the  punkah-coolies. 
They  enjoyed  a  fine,  full  flesh  meal  in  the  middle  of 
the  day,  and  then  threw  themselves  down  on  their  cots 
and  sweated  and  slept  till  it  was  cool  enough  to  go  out 
with  their  '  towny,'  whose  vocabulary  contained  less 
than  six  hundred  words,  arid  the  Adjective,  and  whose 
views  on  every  conceivable  question  they  had  heard 
many  times  before. 

There  was  the  Canteen,  of  course,  and  there  was  the 
Temperance  Room  with  the  second-hand  papers  in  it; 
but  a  man  of  any  profession  cannot  read  for  eight  hours 
a  day  in  a  temperature  of  96°  or  98°  in  the  shade,  run- 
ning up  sometimes  to  103°  at  midnight.  Very  few  men, 
even  though  they  get  a  pannikin  of  flat,  stale,  muddy 
beer  and  hide  it  under  their  cots,  can  continue  drinking 
for  six  hours  a  day.  One  man  tried,  but  he  died,  and 
nearly  the  whole  regiment  went  to  his  funeral  because 
it  gave  them  something  to  do.  It  was  too  early  for  the 
excitement  of  fever  or  cholera.  The  men  could  only 
wait  and  wait  and  wait,  and  watch  the  shadow  of  the 
barrack  creeping  across  the  blinding  white  dust.  That 
was  a  gay  life. 

They  lounged  about  cantonments  —  it  was  too  hot 
for  any  sort  of  game,  and  almost  too  hot  for  vice  —  and 
fuddled  themselves  in  the  evening,  and  filled  themselves 
to  distension  with  the  healthy  nitrogenous  food  provided 
for  them,  and  the  more  they  stoked  the  less  exercise 
they  took  and  more  explosive  they  grew.  Then  tempers 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  A  PRIVATE  79 

began  to  wear  away,  and  men  fell  a-brooding  over  insults 
real  or  imaginary,  for  they  had  nothing  else  to  think  of. 
The  tone  of  the  repartees  changed,  and  instead  of  say- 
ing light-heartedly :  '  I'll  knock  your  silly  face  in,'  men 
grew  laboriously  polite  and  hinted  that  the  canton- 
ments were  not  big  enough  for  themselves  and  their 
enemy,  and  that  there  would  be  more  space  for  one  of 
the  two  in  another  Place. 

It  may  have  been  the  Devil  who  arranged  the  thing, 
but  the  fact  of  the  case  is  that  Losson  had  for  a  long 
time  been  worrying  Simmons  in  an  aimless  way.  It 
gave  him  occupation.  The  two  had  their  cots  side  by 
side,  and  would  sometimes  spend  a  long  afternoon 
swearing  at  each  other;  but  Simmons  was  afraid  of 
Losson  and  dared  not  challenge  him  to  a  fight.  He 
thought  over  the  words  in  the  hot  still  nights,  and  half 
the  hate  he  felt  towards  Losson  he  vented  on  the 
wretched  punkah-coolie. 

Losson  bought  a  parrot  in  the  bazar,  and  put  it  into  a 
little  cage,  and  lowered  the  cage  into  the  cool  darkness 
of  a  well,  and  sat  on  the  well-curb,  shouting  bad  lan- 
guage down  to  the  parrot.  He  taught  it  to  say :  '  Sim- 
mons, ye  so-oorj  which  means  swine,  and  several  other 
things  entirely  unfit  for  publication.  He  was  a  big 
gross  man,  and  he  shook  like  a  jelly  when  the  parrot 
had  the  sentence  correctly.  Simmons,  however,  shook 
with  rage,  for  all  the  room  were  laughing  at  him — the 
parrot  was  such  a  disreputable  puff  of  green  feathers 
and  it  looked  so  human  when  it  chattered.  Losson 
used  to  sit,  swinging  his  fat  legs,  on  the  side  of  the  cot, 
and  ask  the  parrot  what  it  thought  of  Simmons.  The 
parrot  would  answer  :  '  Simmons,  ye  so-oor.'  '  Good 
boy,'  Losson  used  to  say,  scratching  the  parrot's  head : 


80  IN  THE   MATTER  OF  A  PRIVATE 

'ye  'ear  that,  Siin?'  And  Simmons  used  to  turn  over 
on  his  stomach  and  make  answer :  '  I  'ear.  Take  'eed 
you  don't  'ear  something  one  of  these  days.' 

In  the  restless  nights,  after  he  had  been  asleep  all  day, 
fits  of  blind  rage  came  upon  Simmons  and  held  him  till 
he  trembled  all  over,  while  he  thought  in  how  many 
different  ways  he  would  slay  Losson.  Sometimes  he 
would  picture  himself  trampling  the  life  out  of  the  man, 
with  heavy  ammunition-boots,  and  at  others  smashing 
in  his  face  with  the  butt,  and  at  others  jumping  on  his 
shoulders  and  dragging  the  head  back  till  the  neckbone 
cracked.  Then  his  mouth  would  feel  hot  and  fevered, 
and  he  would  reach  out  for  another  sup  of  the  beer  in 
the  pannikin. 

But  the  fancy  that  came  to  him  most  frequently  and 
staved  with  him  longest  was  one  connected  with  the 
great  roll  of  fat  under  Losson's  right  ear.  He  noticed 
it  first  on  a  moonlight  night,  and  thereafter  it  was  always 
before  his  eyes.  It  was  a  fascinating  roll  of  fat,  A 
man  could  get  his  Land  upon  it  and  tear  away  one  side 
of  the  neck ;  or  he  could  place  the  muzzle  of  a  rifle  on  it 
and  blow  away  all  the  head  in  a  flash.  Losson  had  no 
right  to  be  sleek  arid  contented  and  well-to-do,  when 
he,  Simmons,  was  the  butt  of  the  room.  Some  day, 
perhaps,  he  would  show  those  who  laughed  at  the 
•  Simmons,  ye  so-oor '  joke,  that  he  was  as  good  as  the  rest, 
and  held  a  man's  life  in  the  crook  of  his  forefinger. 
When  Losson  snored,  Simmons  hated  him  more  bitterly 
than  ever.  Why  should  Losson  be  able  to  sleep  when 
Simmons  had  to  stay  awake  hour  after  hour,  tossing  and 
turning  on  the  tapes,  with  the  dull  liver  pain  gnawing 
into  his  right  side  and  his  head  throbbing  and  aching 
after  Canteen?  He  thought  over  this  for  many  many 


IN  THE  MATTER  Off  A  PK1VATE  81 

nights,  and  the  world  became  unprofitable  to  him.  He 
even  blunted  his  naturally  fine  appetite  with  beer  and 
tobacco ;  and  all  the  while  the  parrot  talked  at  and 
made  a  mock  of  him. 

The  heat  continued  and  the  tempers  wore  away  more 
quickly  than  before.  A  Sergeant's  wife  died  of  heat- 
apoplexy  in  the  night,  and  the  rumour  ran  abroad  that 
it  was  cholera.  Men  rejoiced  openly,  hoping  that  it 
would  spread  and  send  them  into  camp.  But  that  was 
a  false  alarm. 

It  was  late  on  a  Tuesday  evening,  and  the  men  were 
waiting  in  the  deep  double  verandas  for  '  Last  Posts,' 
when  Simmons  went  to  the  box  at  the  foot  of  his  bed, 
took  out  his  pipe,  and  slammed  the  lid  down  with  a 
bang  that  echoed  through  the  deserted  barrack  like  the 
crack  of  a  rifle.  Ordinarily  speaking,  the  men  would 
have  taken  no  notice ;  but  their  nerves  were  fretted  to 
fiddle-strings.  They  jumped  up,  and  three  or  four 
clattered  into  the  barrack-room  only  to  find  Simmons 
kneeling  by  his  box. 

*  O\v  !  It's  you,  is  it?  '  they  said  and  laughed  fool- 
ishly. 4  We  thought  'twas ' 

Simmons  rose  slowly.  If  the  accident  had  so  shaken 
his  fellows,  what  would  not  the  reality  do  ? 

'  You  thought  it  was  —  did  you  ?  And  what  makes 
you  think  ? '  he  said,  lashing  himself  into  madness  as  he 
went  on  ;  'to  Hell  with  your  thinking,  ye  dirty  spies.' 

'  Simmons,  ye  so-oorj  chuckled  the  parrot  in  the  ve- 
randa sleepily,  recognising  a  well-known  voice.  Now 
that  was  absolutely  all. 

The  tension  snapped.  Simmons  fell  back  on  the  arm- 
rack  deliberately,  —  the  men  were  at  the  far  end  of  the 
room, — and  took  out  his  rifle  and  packet  of  ammuni- 


82  IN  THE   MATTER  OF  A  PRIVATE 

tion.  *  Don't  go  playing  the  goat,  Sim ! '  said  Losson. 
'  Put  it  down,'  but  there  was  a  quaver  in  his  voice. 
Another  man  stooped,  slipped  his  boot  and  hurled  it  at 
Simmons's  head.  The  prompt  answer  was  a  shot  which, 
fired  at  random,  found  its  billet  in  Lesson's  throat. 
Losson  fell  forward  without  a  word,  and  the  others 
scattered. 

*  You  thought  it  was  I '  yelled  Simmons.  *  You're 
drivin'  me  to  it !  I  tell  you  you're  drivin'  me  to  it ! 
Get  up,  Losson,  an'  don't  lie  shammin'  there  —  you  an' 
your  blasted  parrit  that  druv  me  to  it ! ' 

But  there  was  an  unaffected  reality  about  Lesson's 
pose  that  showed  Simmons  what  he  had  done.  The 
men  were  still  clamouring  in  the  veranda.  Simmons 
appropriated  two  more  packets  of  ammunition  and  ran 
into  the  moonlight,  muttering :  '  I'll  make  a  night  of 
it.  Thirty  roun's,  an'  the  last  for  myself.  Take  you 
that,  you  dogs  ! ' 

He  dropped  on  one  knee  and  fired  into  the  brown  of 
the  men  on  the  veranda,  but  the  bullet  flew  high,  and 
landed  in  the  brickwork  with  a  vicious  phwit  that  mad^ 
some  of  the  younger  ones  turn  pale.  It  is,  as  musketry 
theorists  observe,  one  thing  to  fire  and  another  to  be 
fired  at. 

Then  the  instinct  of  the  chase  flared  up.  The  news 
spread  from  barrack  to  barrack,  and  the  men  doubled 
out  intent  on  the  capture  of  Simmons,  the  wild  beast, 
who  was  heading  for  the  Cavalry  parade-ground,  stop- 
ping now  and  again  to  send  back,  a  shot  and  a  curse  in 
the  direction  of  his  pursuers. 

'  I'll  learn  you  to  spy  on  me  ! '  he  shouted ;  '  I'll  learn 
you  to  give  me  dorg's  names  !  Come  on  the  'ole  lot 
o'  you!  Colonel  John  Anthony  Deever,  C.B. !  '  -he 


IN  THE   MATTER   OF  A  PRIVATE  83 

turned  towards  the  Infantry  Mess  and  shook  his  rifle  — 
4  you  think  yourself  the  devil  of  a  man  —  but  I  tell  you 
that  if  you  put  your  ugly  old  carcass  outside  o'  that 
door,  I'll  make  you  the  poorest-lookin'  man  in  the  army. 
Come  out,  Colonel  John  Anthony  Deever,  C.B. !  Come 
out  and  see  me  practiss  on  the  rainge.  I'm  the  crack 
shot  of  the  'ole  bloomin'  battalion.'  In  proof  of  which 
statement  Simmons  fired  at  the  lighted  windows  of  the 
mess-house. 

'Private  Simmons,  E  Comp'ny,  on  the  Cavalry  p'rade- 
ground,  Sir,  with  thirty  rounds,'  said  a  Sergeant  breath- 
lessly to  the  Colonel.  '  Shootin'  right  and  lef,  Sir. 
Shot  Private  Losson.  What's  to  be  done,  Sir  ? ' 

Colonel  John  Anthony  Deever,  C.B.,  sallied  out,  only 
to  be  saluted  by  a  spurt  of  dust  at  his  feet. 

'Pull  up!'  said  the  Second  in  Command;  'I  don't 
want  my  step  in  that  way,  Colonel.  He's  as  danger- 
ous as  a  mad  dog.' 

'  Shoot  him  like  one,  then,'  said  the  Colonel  bitterly, 
'if  he  won't  take  his  chance.  My  regiment,  too!  If 
it  had  been  the  Towheads  I  could  have  understood.' 

Private  Simmons  had  occupied  a  strong  position  near 
a  well  on  the  edge  of  the  parade-ground,  and  was  defy- 
ing the  regiment  to  come  on.  The  regiment  was  not 
anxious  to  comply,  for  there  is  small  honour  in  being 
shot  by  a  fellow-private.  Only  Corporal  Slane,  rifle  in 
hand,  threw  himself  down  on  the  ground,  and  wormed 
his  way  towards  the  well. 

'Don't  shoot,'  said  he  to  the  men  round  him  ;  'like 
as  not  you'll  'it  me.  I'll  catch  the  beggar,  liviu'.' 

Simmons  ceased  shouting  for  a  while,  and  the  noise 
of  trap-wheels  could  be  heard  across  the  plain.  Major 
Oldyne,  Commanding  the  Horse  Battery,  was  coming 


84  IN  THE  MATTER   OF  A  PRIVATE 

back  from  a  dinner  in  the  Civil  Lines ;  was  driving 
after  his  usual  custom  —  that  is  to  say,  as  fast  as  the 
horse  could  go. 

*  A  orf 'cer !     A  blooming  spangled  orf'cer ! '  shrieked 
Simmons ;    '  I'll   make   a  scarecrow   of   that   orf'cer !  ' 
The  trap  stopped. 

'What's  this?'  demanded  the  Major  of  Gunners. 
'  You  there,  drop  your  rifle.' 

4  Why,  it's  Jerry  Blazes  !  I  ain't  got  no  quarrel  with 
you,  Jerry  Blazes.  Pass  frien',  an'  all's  well ! ' 

But  Jerry  Blazes  had  not  the  faintest  intention  of 
passing  a  dangerous  murderer.  He  was,  as  his  adoring 
Battery  swore  long  and  fervently,  without  knowledge 
of  fear,  and  they  were  surely  the  best  judges,  for  Jerry 
Blazes,  it  was  notorious,  had  done  his  possible  to  kill  a 
man  each  time  the  Battery  went  out. 

He  walked  towards  Simmons,  with  the  intention  of 
rushing  him,  and  knocking  him  down. 

*  Don't  make  me  do  it,  Sir,'  said  Simmons ;  '  I  ain't 
got  nothing  agin  you.     Ah  !  you  would  ? '  -  —  the  Major 
broke  into  a  run  — '  Take  that  then ! ' 

The  Major  dropped  with  a  bullet  through  his  shoul- 
der, and  Simmons  stood  over  him.  He  had  lost  the 
satisfaction  of  killing  Losson  in  the  desired  way :  but 
here  was  a  helpless  body  to  his  hand.  Should  he  slip 
in  another  cartridge,  and  blow  off  the  head,  or  with  the 
butt  smash  in  the  white  face  ?  He  stopped  to  consider, 
and  a  cry  went  up  from  the  far  side  of  the  parade- 
ground  :  '  He's  killed  Jerry  Blazes ! '  But  in  the 
shelter  of  the  well-pillars  Simmons  was  safe,  except 
when  he  stepped  out  to  fire.  '  I'll  blow  yer  'andsome 
'ead  off,  Jerry  Blazes,'  said  Simmons  reflectively.  '  Six 
an'  three  is  nine  an'  one  is  ten,  an'  that  leaves  me 


IN  THE   MATTER   OF  A   PRIVATE  85 

another  nineteen,  an'  one  for  myself.'  He  tugged  at 
the  string  of  the  second  packet  of  ammunition.  Cor- 
poral Slane  crawled  out  of  the  shadow  of  a  bank  into 
the  moonlight. 

'  I  see  you ! '  said  Simmons.  '  Come  a  bit  f urder  on 
an'  I'll  do  for  you.' 

'I'm  comin','  said  Corporal  Slane  briefly;  'you've 
done  a  bad  day's  work,  Sim.  Come  out  'ere  an'  come 
back  with  me.' 

'  Come  to ,'  laughed  Simmons,  sending  a  car- 
tridge home  with  his  thumb.  *  Not  before  I've  settled 
you  an'  Jerry  Blazes.' 

The  Corporal  was  lying  at  full  length  in  the  dust  of 
the  parade-ground,  a  rifle  under  him.  Some  of  the  less- 
cautious  men  in  the  distance  shouted:  'Shoot  'im! 
Shoot  'im,  Slane  ! ' 

'  You  move  'and  or  foot,  Slane,'  said  Simmons,  '  an' 
I'll  kick  Jerry  Blazes'  'ead  in,  and  shoot  you  after.' 

'  I  ain't  movin','  said  the  Corporal,  raising  his  head  ; 
'you  daren't  'it  a  man  on  'is  legs.  Let  go  o'  Jerry 
Blazes  an'  come  out  o'  that  with  your  fistes.  Come  an' 
'it  me.  You  daren't,  you  bloomin'  dog-shooter ! ' 

'I  dare.' 

'  You  lie,  you  man-sticker.  You  sneakin',  Sheeny 
butcher,  you  lie.  See  there  ! '  Slane  kicked  the  rifle 
away,  and  stood  up  in  the  peril  of  his  life.  '  Come  on, 
now !  * 

The  temptation  was  more  than  Simmons  could  resist, 
for  the  Corporal  in  his  white  clothes  offered  a  perfect 
mark. 

'  Don't  misname  me,'  shouted  Simmons,  firing  as  he 
spoke.  The  shot  missed,  and  the  shooter,  blind  with 
rage,  threw  his  rifle  down  and  rushed  at  Slane  from  the 


86  IN   THE   MATTER   OF  A  PRIVATE 

protection  of  the  well.  Within  striking  distance,  he 
kicked  savagely  at  Slane's  stomach,  but  the  weedj  Cor- 
poral knew  something  of  Simmons's  weakness,  and 
knew,  too,  the  deadly  guard  for  that  kick.  Bowing 
forward  and  drawing  up  his  right  leg  till  the  heel  of 
the  right  foot  was  set  some  three  inches  above  the  in- 
side of  the  left  knee-cap,  he  met  the  blow  standing 
on  one  leg  —  exactly  as  Gonds  stand  when  they  medi- 
tate —  and  ready  for  the  fall  that  would  follow.  There 
was  an  oath,  the  Corporal  fell  over  to  his  own  left  as 
shinbone  met  shinbone,  and  the  Private  collapsed,  his 
right  leg  broken  an  inch  above  the  ankle. 

'  'Pity  you  don't  know  that  guard,  Sim,'  said  Slane. 
spitting  out  the  dust  as  he  rose.  Then  raising  his  voice 
— '  Come  an'  take  him  orf.  I've  bruk  'is  leg.'  This 
was  not  strictly  true,  for  the  Private  had  accomplished 
his  own  downfall,  since  it  is  the  special  merit  of  that 
leg-guard  that  the  harder  the  kick  the  greater  the 
kicker's  discomfiture. 

Slane  walked  to  Jerry  Blazes  and  hung  over  him  with 
ostentatious  anxiety,  while  Simmons,  weeping  with  pain, 
was  carried  away.  '  'Ope  you  ain't  'urt  badly,  Sir,'  said 
Slane.  The  Major  had  fainted,  and  there  was  an  ugly, 
ragged  hole  through  the  top  of  his  arm.  Slane  knelt 
down  and  murmured :  '  S'elp  me,  I  believe  Vs  dead. 
Well,  if  that  ain't  my  blooming  luck  all  over  ! ' 

But  the  Major  was  destined  to  lead  his  Battery  afield 
for  many  a  long  day  with  unshaken  nerve.  He  was  re- 
moved, and  nursed  and  petted  into  convalescence,  while 
the  Battery  discussed  the  wisdom  of  capturing  Simmons, 
and  blowing  him  from  a  gun.  They  idolised  their  Major, 
and  his  reappearance  on  parade  brought  about  a  scene 
nowhere  provided  for  in  the  Army  Regulations. 


IN  THE   MATTER   OF  A  PRIVATE  87 

Great,  too,  was  the  glory  that  fell  to  Slane's  share. 
The  Gunners  would  have  made  him  drunk  thrice  a  day 
for  at  least  a  fortnight.  Even  the  Colonel  of  his  own 
regiment  complimented  him  upon  his  coolness,  and  the 
local  paper  called  him  a  hero.  These  things  did  not 
puff  him  up.  When  the  Major  offered  him  money  and 
thanks,  the  virtuous  Corporal  took  the  one  and  put 
aside  the  other.  But  he  had  a  request  to  make  and 
prefaced  it  with  many  a  'Beg  y'  pardon,  Sir.'  Could  the 
Major  see  his  way  to  letting  the  Slane-M'Kenna  wedding 
be  adorned  by  the  presence  of  four  Battery  horses  to 
pull  a  hired  barouche  ?  The  Major  could,  and  so  could 
the  Battery.  Excessively  so.  It  was  a  gorgeous  wedding. 
********* 

'Wot  did  I  do  it  for?'  said  Corporal  Slane.  'For 
the  'orses  o'  course.  Jhansi  ain't  a  beauty  to  look  at, 
but  I  wasn't  goin'  to  'ave  a  hired  turn-out.  Jerry 
Blazes  ?  If  I  'adn't  'a'  wanted  something,  Sim  might 
ha'  blowed  Jerry  Blazes'  blooming  'ead  into  Hirish 
stew  for  aLLpfht  I'd  'a'  cared.' 

O 

And  they  hanged  Private  Simmons  —  hanged  him  as 
high  as  Haman  in  hollow  square  of  the  regiment;  and 
the  Colonel  said  it  was  Drink ;  and  the  Chaplain  was 
sure  it  was  the  Devil;  and  Simmons  fancied  it  was 
both,  but  he  didn't  know,  and  only  hoped  his  fate 
would  be  a  warning  to  his  companions;  and  half  a 
dozen  'intelligent  publicists  '  wrote  six  beautiful  lead- 
ing articles  on  'The  Prevalence  of  Crime  in  the  Army.' 

But  not  a  soul  thought  of  comparing  the  'bloody- 
minded  Simmons'  to  the  squawking,  gaping  schoolgirl 
with  which  this  story  opens. 


BLACK  JACK 

To  the  wake  av  Tim  O'Hara 

Caine  company, 
All  St.  Patrick's  Alley 

Was  there  to  see. 

Robert  Buchanan. 

As  the  Three  Musketeers  share  their  silver,  tobacco, 
and  liquor  together,  as  they  protect  each  other  in  bar- 
racks or  camp,  and  as  they  rejoice  together  over  the  joy 
of  one,  so  do  they  divide  their  sorrows.  When  Or- 
theris's  irrepressible  tongue  has  brought  him  into  cells 
for  a  season,  or  Learoyd  has  run  amok  through  his  kit 
and  accoutrements,  or  Mulvaney  has  indulged  in  strong 
waters,  and  under  their  influence  reproved  his  Com- 
manding Officer,  you  can  see  the  trouble  in  the  faces 
of  the  untouched  two.  And  the  rest  of  the  regiment 
know  that  comment  or  jest  is  unsafe.  Generally 
the  three  avoid  Orderly  Room  and  the  Corner  Shop 
that  follows,  leaving  both  to  the  young  bloods  who 
have  not  sown  their  wild  oats;  but  there  are  occa- 
sions   

For  instance,  Ortheris  was  sitting  on  the  drawbridge 
of  the  main  gate  of  Fort  Amara,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  his  pipe,  bowl  down,  in  his  mouth.  Lea- 
royd was  lying  at  full  length  on  the  turf  of  the  glacis, 
kicking  his  heels  in  the  air,  and  I  came  round  the 
corner  and  asked  for  Mulvaney. 

Ortheris  spat  into  the  ditch  and  shook   his    head. 


BLACK  JACK  89 

-No  good  seein'  'im  now,'  said  Ortheris;  "e's  a  bloom- 
in'  camel.  Listen.' 

I  heard  on  the  flags  of  the  veranda  opposite  to  the 
cells,  which  are  close  to  the  Guard-Room,  a  measured 
step  that  I  could  have  identified  in  the  tramp  of  an 
army.  There  were  twenty  paces  crescendo,  a  pause, 
and  then  twenty  diminuendo. 

'That's  'im,'  said  Ortheris;  'my  Gawd,  that's  'im! 
All  for  a  bloomin'  button  you  could  see  your  face  in  an' 
a  bit  o'  lip  that  a  bloomin'  Harkangel  would  'a'  guv 
back.' 

Mulvaney  was  doing  pack-drill  —  was  compelled, 
that  is  to  say,  to  walk  up  and  down  for  certain  hours 
in  full  marching  order,  with  rifle,  bayonet,  ammuni- 
tion, knapsack,  and  overcoat.  And  his  offence  was 
being  dirty  on  parade!  I  nearly  fell  into  the  Fort 
Ditch  with  astonishment  and  wrath,  for  Mulvaney  is 
the  smartest  man  that  ever  mounted  guard,  and  would 
as  soon  think  of  turning  out  uncleanly  as  of  dispensing 
with  his  trousers. 

'Who  was  the  Sergeant  that  checked  him? '  I  asked. 

'Mullins,  o'  course,'  said  Ortheris.  'There  ain't 
no  other  man  would  whip  'im  on  the  peg  so.  But 
Mullins  ain't  a  man.  'E's  a  dirty  little  pigscraper, 
that's  wot  'e  is.' 

'What  did  Mulvaney  say?  He's  not  the  make  of 
man  to  take  that  quietly. ' 

*  Said !  Bin  better  for  'im  if  'e'd  shut  'is  mouth. 
Lord,  'ow  we  laughed!  "Sargint,"  'e  sez,  "ye  say 
I'm  dirty.  Well,"  sez  'e,  "when  your  wife  lets  you 
blow  your  own  nose  for  yourself,  perhaps  you'll  knovr 
wot  dirt  is.  You're  himperfectly  eddicated,  Sargint." 
sez  'e,  an'  then  we  fell  in.  But  after  p'rade,  'e  was  up 


90  BLACK   JACK 

an'  Mullins  was  swearin'  'imself  black  in  the  face  at 
Ord'ly  Room  that  Mulvaney  'ad  called  'im  a  swine  an' 
Lord  knows  wot  all.  You  know  Mullins.  'E'll  'ave 
'is  'ead  broke  in  one  o'  these  days.  'E's  too  big  a 
bloomin'  liar  for  ord'nary  consumption.  "  Three  hours' 
can  an'  kit,"  sez  the  Colonel;  "not  for  bein'  dirty  on 
p'rade,  but  for  'avin'  said  somethin'  to  Mullins,  tho'  I 
do  not  believe, "sez  'e,  "you  said  wot  'e  said  you  said." 
An'  Mulvaney  fell  away  sayin'  nothin'.  You  know  'e 
never  speaks  to  the  Colonel  for  fear  o'  gettin'  'imself 
fresh  copped.' 

Mullins,  a  very  young  and  very  much  married  Ser- 
geant, whose  manners  were  partly  the  result  of  innate 
depravity  and  partly  of  imperfectly  digested  Board 
School,  came  over  the  bridge,  and  most  rudely  asked 
Ortheris  what  he  was  doing. 

'Me?'  said  Ortheris.  'Ow!  I'm  waiting  for  my 
C 'mission.  'Seed  it  comin'  along  yit? ' 

Mullins  turned  purple  and  passed  on.  There  was 
the  sound  of  a  gentle  chuckle  from  the  glacis  where 
Learoyd  lay. 

*  'E  expects  to  get  'is  C'mission  some  day,'  explained 
Orth'ris;  'Gawd  'elp  the  Mess  that  'ave  to  put  their 
'ands  into  the  same  kiddy  as  'im!  Wot  time  d'you 
make  it,  Sir?  Fower!  Mulvaney'll  be  out  in  'arf  an 
hour.  You  don't  want  to  buy  a  dorg,  Sir,  do  you  ?  A 
pup  you  can  trust  —  'arf  Rampore  by  the  Colonel's  grey- 
'ound.' 

'Ortheris,'  I  answered  sternly,  for  I  knew  what  was 
in  his  mind,  '  do  you  mean  to  say  that ' 

'I  didn't  mean  to  arx  money  o'  you,  any'ow, '  said 
Ortheris;  'I'd  'a'  sold  you  the  dorg  good  an'  cheap, 
but  —  but  —  I  know  Mulvaney'll  want  somethin'  after 


BLACK  JACK  91 

we've  walked  'im  orf,  an'  I  ain't  got  nothin',  nor  'e 
'asn't  neither.  I'd  sooner  sell  you  the  dorg,  Sir.  'S 
trewth  I  would ! ' 

A  shadow  fell  on  the  drawbridge,  and  Ortheris  began 
to  rise  into  the  air,  lifted  by  a  huge  hand  upon  his 
collar. 

'Onything  but  t'  braass,'  said  Learoyd  quietly,  as 
he  held  the  Londoner  over  the  ditch.  'Onything  but 
t'  braass,'  Orth'ris,  ma  son!  Ah've  got  one  rupee 
eight  annas  of  ma  own.'  He  showed  two  coins,  and 
replaced  Ortheris  on  the  drawbridge  rail. 

'Very  good,'  I  said;   'where  are  you  going  to?' 

'Goin'  to  walk  'im  orf  wen  'e  comes  out  —  two 
miles  or  three  or  fower, '  said  Ortheris. 

The  footsteps  within  ceased.  I  heard  the  dull  thud 
of  a  knapsack  falling  on  a  bedstead,  followed  by  the 
rattle  of  arms.  Ten  minutes  later,  Mulvaney,  fault- 
lessly dressed,  his  lips  tight  and  his  face  as  black  as  a 
thunderstorm,  stalked  into  the  sunshine  on  the  draw- 
bridge. Learoyd  and  Ortheris  sprang  from  my  side 
and  closed  in  upon  him,  both  leaning  towards  as  horses 
lean  upon  the  pole.  In  an  instant  they  had  disappeared 
down  the  sunken  road  to  the  cantonments,  and  I  was 
left  alone.  Mulvaney  had  not  seen  fit  to  recognise  me; 
so  I  knew  that  his  trouble  must  be  heavy  upon  him. 

I  climbed  one  of  the  bastions  and  watched  the  figures 
of  the  Three  Musketeers  grow  smaller  and  smaller 
across  the  plain.  They  were  walking  as  fast  as  they 
could  put  foot  to  the  ground,  and  their  heads  were 
bowed.  They  fetched  a  great  compass  round  the 
parade-ground,  skirted  the  Cavalry  lines,  and  vanished 
in  the  belt  of  trees  that  fringes  the  low  land  by  the 
river. 


92  BLACK  JACK 

I  followed  slowly,  and  sighted  them  —  dusty,  sweat- 
ing, but  still  keeping  up  their  long,  swinging  tramp  — 
on  the  river  bank.  They  crashed  through  the  Forest 
Reserve,  headed  towards  the  Bridge  of  Boats,  and  pres- 
ently established  themselves  on  the  bow  of  one  of  the 
pontoons.  I  rode  cautiously  till  I  saw  three  puffs  of 
white  smoke  rise  and  die  out  in  the  clear  evening  air, 
and  knew  that  peace  had  come  again.  At  the  bridge- 
head they  waved  me  forward  with  gestures  of  welcome. 

'Tie  up  your  'orse,'  shouted  Ortheris,  '  an'  come  on, 
Sir.  We're  all  goin'  'ome  in  this  'ere  bloomin'  boat.' 

From  the  bridge-head  to  the  Forest  Officer's  bunga- 
low is  but  a  step.  The  mess-man  was  there,  and  would 
see  that  a  man  held  my  horse.  Did  the  Sahib  require 
aught  else  —  a  peg,  or  beer  ?  Ritchie  Sahib  had  left 
half  a  dozen  bottles  of  the  latter,  but  since  the  Sahib 
was  a  friend  of  Ritchie  Sahib,  and  he,  the  mess-man, 
was  a  poor  man 

I  gave  my  order  quietly,  and  returned  to  the  bridge. 
Mulvaney  had  taken  off  his  boots,  and  was  dabbling 
his  toes  in  the  water ;  Learoyd  was  lying  on  his  back 
on  the  pontoon;  and  Ortheris  was  pretending  to  row 
with  a  big  bamboo. 

'I'm  an  ould  fool,'  said  Mulvaney,  reflectively, 
'dhraggin'  you  two  out  here  bekaze  I  was  undher  the 
Black  Dog  —  sulkin'  like  a  child.  Me  that  was  sol- 
dierin'  when  Mullins,  an'  be  damned  to  him,  was 
shquealin'  on  a  counterpin  for  five  shillin'  a  week  — 
an'  that  not  paid!  Bhoys,  I've  took  you  five  miles  out 
av  natural  pe varsity.  Phew ! ' 

'Wot's  the  odds  so  long  as  you're  'appy?'  said  Or- 
theris, applying  himself  afresh  to  the  bamboo.  'As 
well  'ere  as  anywhere  else.' 


BLACK  JACK  93 

Learoyd  held  up  a  rupee  and  an  eight-anna  bit,  and 
shook  his  head  sorrowfully.  'Five  mile  from  t'  Can- 
teen, all  along  o'  Mulvaney's  blaasted  pride.' 

4 1  know  ut,'  said  Mulvaney  penitently.  'Why  will 
ye  come  wid  me  ?  An'  yet  I  wud  be  mortial  sorry  if 
ye  did  not  —  any  time  —  though  I  am  ould  enough  to 
know  betther.  But  I  will  do  penance.  I  will  take  a 
dhrink  av  wather. ' 

Ortheris  squeaked  shrilly.  The  butler  of  the  Forest 
bungalow  was  standing  near  the  railings  with  a  basket, 
uncertain  how  to  clamber  down  to  the  pontoon.  'Might 
'a'  know'd  you'd  'a'  got  liquor  out  o'  bloomin'  desert, 
Sir,'  said  Ortheris,  gracefully,  to  me.  Then  to  the 
mess-man:  'Easy  with  them  there  bottles.  They're 
worth  their  weight  in  gold.  Jock,  ye  long-armed  beg- 
gar, get  out  o'  that  an'  hike  'em  down.' 

Learoyd  had  the  basket  on  the  pontoon  in  an  instant, 
and  the  Three  Musketeers  gathered  round  it  with  dry 
lips.  They  drank  my  health  in  due  and  ancient  form, 
and  thereafter  tobacco  tasted  sweeter  than  ever.  They 
absorbed  all  the  beer,  and  disposed  themselves  in  pict- 
uresque attitudes  to  admire  the  setting  sun  —  no  man 
speaking  for  a  while. 

Mulvaney's  head  dropped  upon  his  chest,  and  we 
thought  that  he  was  asleep. 

'What  on  earth  did  you  come  so  far  for  ? '  I  whispered 
to  Ortheris. 

'To  walk  'im  orf,  o'  course.  When  'e's  been  checked 
we  allus  walks  'im  orf.  'E  ain't  fit  to  be  spoke  to  those 
times  —  nor  'e  ain't  fit  to  leave  alone  neither.  So  we 
takes  'im  till  'e  is.' 

Mulvaney  raised  his  head,  and  stared  straight  into 
the  sunset.  'I  had  my  rifle, '  said  he  dreamily,  'an'  I 


94  BLACK  JACK 

had  my  bay 'nit,  an'  Mullins  came  round  the  corner,  an* 
he  looked  in  my  face  an'  grinned  dishpiteful.  "  You 
can't  blow  your  own  nose,"  sez  he.  Now,  I  cannot  tell 
fwhat  Mullins 's  expayrience  may  ha'  been,  but,  Mother 
av  God,  he  was  nearer  to  his  death  that  minut'  than  I 
have  iver  been  to  mine  —  and  that's  less  than  the  thick- 
nuss  av  a  hair ! ' 

'Yes,'  said  Ortheris  calmly,  *  you'd  look  fine  with  all 
your  buttons  took  orf,  an'  the  Band  in  front  o'  you, 
walkin'  roun'  slow  time.  We're  both  front-rank  men, 
me  an'  Jock,  when  the  rig'ment's  in  'ollow  square. 
Bloomin'  fine  you'd  look.  "The  Lord  giveth  an'  the 
Lord  taketh  awai, —  Heasy  with  that  there  drop!  — 
Blessed  be  the  naime  o'  the  Lord,"'  he  gulped  in  a 
quaint  and  suggestive  fashion. 

'  Mullins !  Wot's  Mullins  ? '  said  Learoyd  slowly. 
'  Ah'd  take  a  coomp'ny  o'  Mullinses  —  ma  hand  behind 
me.  Sitha,  Mulvaney,  don't  be  a  fool. ' 

'  Ton  were  not  checked  for  fwhat  you  did  not  do,  an' 
made  a  mock  av  afther.  'Twas  for  less  than  that  the 
Tyrone  wud  ha'  sent  O'Hara  to  hell,  instid  av  lettin' 
him  go  by  his  own  ehoosin',  whin  Rafferty  shot  him, ' 
retorted  Mulvaney. 

'And  who  stopped  the  Tyrone  from  doing  it?'  I 
asked. 

'  That  ould  fool  who's  sorry  he  didn't  stick  the  pig 
Mullins.'  His  head  dropped  again.  When  he  raised 
it  he  shivered  and  put  his  hands  on  the  shoulders  of 
his  two  companions. 

'  Ye've  walked  the  Divil  out  av  me,  bhoys,'  said  he. 

Ortheris  shot  out  the  red-hot  dottel  of  his  pipe  on  the 
back  of  the  hairy  fist.  '  They  say  'Ell's  'otter  than 
that,'  said  he,  as  Mulvaney  swore  aloud.  'You  be 


BLACK  JACK  95 

warned  so.  Look  yonder!' — he  pointe^  across  the 
river  to  a  ruined  temple  — '  Me  an'  you  an'  'im  '  —  he 
indicated  me  by  a  jerk  of  his  head  —  'was  there  one  day 
when  Hi  made  a  bloomin'  show  o'  myself.  You  an' 
'im  stopped  me  doin'  such  —  an'  Hi  was  on'y  wishful 
for  to  desert.  You  are  makin'  a  bigger  bloomin'  phow 
o'  yourself  now.' 

*  Don't  mind  him,  Mulvaney,'  I  said;  '  Dinah  Shadd 
won't  let  you  hang  yourself  yet  awhile,  and  you  'don't 
intend  to  try  it  either.  Let's  hear  about  the  Tyrone 
and  O'Hara.  Rafferty  shot  him  for  fooling  with  his 
wife.  What  happened  before  that? ' 

'  There's  no  fool  like  an  ould  fool.  You  know  you 
can  do  anythin'  wid  me  whin  I'm  talkin'.  Did  I  say 
I  wud  like  to  cut  Mullins's  liver  out?  I  deny  the 
imputashin,  for  fear  that  Orth'ris  here  wud  report  me 
—  Ah!  You  wud  tip  me  into  the  river,  wud  you?  Sit 
quiet,  little  man.  Anyways,  Mullins  is  not  worth  the 
trouble  av  an  extry  p'rade,  an'  I  will  trate  him  wid 
outrajis  contimpt.  The  Tyrone  an'  O'Hara!  O'Hara 
an'  the  Tyrone,  begad!  Ould  days  are  hard  to  bring 
back  into  the  mouth,  but  they're  always  inside  the 
head.' 

Followed  a  long  pause. 

4  O'Hara  was  a  Divil.  Though  I  saved  him,  for  the 
honour  av  the  rig'mint,  from  his  death  that  time,  I  say 
it  now.  He  was  a  Divil  —  a  long,  bould,  black-haired 
Divil.' 

'Which  way?'  asked  Ortheris. 

4  Women.' 

4  Then  I  know  another.' 

4  Not  more  than  in  reason,  if  you  mane  me,  ye  warped 
walkin'-shtick.  I  have  been  young,  an'  for  why  should 


96  BLACK  JACK 

I  not  have  tuk  what  I  cud?  Did  I  iver,  whin  I  was 
Corp'ril,  use  the  rise  av  my  rank  —  wan  step  an'  that 
taken  away,  more's  the  sorrow  an'  the  fault  av  me !  — 
to  prosecute  a  nefarious  inthrigue,  as  O'Hara  did? 
Did  I,  whin  I  was  Corp'ril,  lay  my  spite  upon  a  man  an' 
make  his  life  a  dog's  life  from  day  to  day  ?  Did  I  lie, 
as  O'Hara  lied,  till  the  young  wans  in  the  Tyrone 
turned  white  wid  the  fear  av  the  Judgment  av  God 
killin*  thim  all  in  a  lump,  as  ut  killed  the  woman  at 
Devizes?  I  did  not !  I  have  sinned  my  sins  an'  I  have 
made  my  confesshin,  an'  Father  Victor  knows  the  worst 
av  me.  O'Hara  was  tuk,  before  he  cud  spake,  on 
liafferty's  doorstep,  an'  no  man  knows  the  worst  av 
him.  But  this  much  I  know  ! 

'The  Tyrone  was  recruited  any  fashion  in  the  ould 
days.  A  draf  from  Connemara  —  a  draf  from  Ports 
mouth  —  a  draf  from  Kerry,  an'  that  was  a  blazin'  bad 
draf — here,  there  and  ivery where  —  but  the  large  av 
thim  was  Oirish  —  Black  Oirish.  Now  there  are  Oirish 
an'  Oirish.  The  good  are  good  as  the  best,  but  the 
bad  are  wurrst  than  the  wurrst.  'Tis  this  way.  They 
clog  together  in  pieces  as  fast  as  thieves,  an'  no  wan 
knows  fwhat  they  will  do  till  wan  turns  informer  an' 
the  gang  is  bruk.  But  ut  begins  again,  a  day  later, 
meetin"  in  holes  an'  corners  an'  swearin'  bloody  oaths 
an'  shtickin'  a  man  in  the  back  an'  runnin'  away,  an' 
thin  waitin'  for  the  blood-money  on  the  reward  papers  — 
to  see  if  ut's  worth  enough.  Those  are  the  Black 
Oirish,  an'  'tis  they  that  bring  dishgrace  upon  the  name 
av  Oireland,  an'  thim  I  wud  kill  —  as  I  nearly  killed 
wan  wanst. 

'But  to   reshume.     My  room — 'twas  before    I   was 
married  —  was  wid  twelve  av  the  scum  av  the  earth  — 


BLACK  JACK  97 

the  pickin's  av  the  gutter  —  mane  men  that  wud 
neither  laugh  nor  talk  nor  yet  get  dhrunk  as  a  man 
shud.  They  thried  some  av  their  dog's  thricks  on  me, 
but  I  dhrew  a  line  round  my  cot,  an'  the  man  that 
thransgressed  ut  wint  into  hospital  for  three  days  good. 

1 0'Hara  had  put  his  spite  on  the  room  —  he  was  my 
Colour  Sargint  —  an'  nothin'  cud  we  do  to  plaze  him. 
I  was  younger  than  I  am  now,  an'  I  tuk  what  I  got  in 
the  way  av  dressing  down  and  punishmint-dhrill  wid 
my  tongue  in  my  cheek.  But  it  was  diff'rint  wid  the 
others,  an'  why  I  cannot  say,  excipt  that  some  men  are 
borrun  mane  an'  go  to  dhirty  murdher  where  a  fist 
is  more  than  enough.  Afther  a  whoile,  they  changed 
their  chune  to  me  an'  was  desp'rit  frien'ly  —  all  twelve 
av  thim  cursin'  O'Hara  in  chorus. 

4 "  Eyah,"  sez  I,  "  O'Hara's  a  divil  an'  I'm  not  for 
denyin'  ut,  but  is  he  the  only  man  in   the   wurruld  ? 
Let  him  go.     He'll  get  tired  av  findin'  our  kit  foul  an 
our  'coutrements  onproperly  kep'." 

' "  We  will  not  let  him  go,"  sez  they. 

' "  Thin  take  him,"  sez  I,  "  an'  a  dashed  poor  yield 
you  will  get  for  your  throuble.' 

' "  Is  he  not  misconductin'  himself  wid  Slimmy's 
wife  ?  "  sez  another. 

' "  She's  common  to  the  rig'mint,"  sez  I.  "  Fwhat 
has  made  ye  this  partic'lar  on  a  suddint  ?  " 

' "  Has  he  not  put  his  spite  on  th"  roomful  av  us '/ 
Can  we  do  anythin'  that  he  will  no"1  jheck  us  for  ?  "  sea 
another. 

' "  That's  thrue,"  sez  I. 

'  "  Will  ye  not  help  us  to  do  aught,"  sez  another  — 
"  a  big  bould  man  like  you  ?  " 

4 "  I  will  break  his  head  iroon  his  shoulthers  av  In 


98  BLACK  JACK 

puts  hand  on  me,"  sez  I.  "  I  will  give  him  the  lie  av 
he  says  that  I'm  dhirty,  an'  I  wud  not  mind  duckin' 
him  in  the  Artillery  troughs  if  ut  was  not  that  I'm 
thryin'  for  my  shtripes." 

4  u  Is  that  all  ye  will  do  ?  "  sez  another.  "  Have  ye 
no  more  spunk  than  that,  ye  blood-dhrawn  calf  ?  " 

' "  Blood-dhrawn  I  may  be,"  sez  I,  gettin'  back  to 
my  cot  an'  makin'  my  line  round  ut ;  "  but  ye  know 
that  the  man  who  comes  acrost  this  mark  will  be  more 
blood-dhrawn  than  me.  No  man  gives  me  the  name  in 
my  mouth,"  I  sez.  "  Ondersthand,  I  will  have  no  part 
wid  you  in  anythin'  ye  do,  nor  will  I  raise  my  fist  to 
my  shuperior.  Is  any  wan  comin'  on  ?  "  sez  I. 

'  They  made  no  move,  tho'  I  gave  them  full  time, 
but  stud  growlin'  an'  snaiiin'  together  at  wan  ind  av 
the  room.  I  tuk  up  my  cap  and  wint  out  to  Canteen, 
thinkin'  no  little  av  mesilf,  and  there  I  grew  most 
ondacintly  dhrunk  in  my  legs.  My  head  was  all 
reasonable. 

4 "  Houligan,"  I  sez  to  a  man  in  E  Comp'ny  that  was 
by  way  av  bein'  a  frind  av  mine  ;  "  I'm  overtuk  from 
the  belt  down.  Do  you  give  me  the  touch  av  your 
shoulther  to  presarve  my  formation  an'  march  me  acrost 
the  ground  into  the  high  grass.  I'll  sleep  ut  off  there," 
sez  1 ;  an'  Houligan  —  he's  dead  now,  but  good  he  was 
while  he  lasted  —  walked  wid  me,  givin'  me  the  touch 
whin  I  wint  wide,  ontil  we  came  to  the  high  grass,  an', 
my  faith,  the  sky  an'  the  earth  was  fair  rowlin'  undher 
me.  I  made  for  where  the  grass  was  thickust,  an'  there 
I  slep'  off  my  liquor  wid  an  easy  conscience.  I  did  not 
desire  to  come  on  books  too  frequent ;  my  characther 
havin'  been  shpotless  for  the  good  half  av  a  year. 

4  Whin  I  roused,  the  dhririk  was  dyin'  out  in  me,  anr 


BLACK  JACK  99 

I  felt  as  though  a  she-cat  had  littered  in  my  mouth.  I 
had  not  learned  to  hould  my  liquor  wid  comfort  in 
thim  days.  'Tis  little  betther  I  am  now.  "  I  will  get 
Houligan  to  pour  a  bucket  over  my  head,"  thinks  I,  an' 
I  wud  ha'  risen,  but  I  heard  some  wan  say:  "  Mulvaney 
can  take  the  blame  av  ut  for  the  backslidin'  hound  he 
is." 

' "  Oho  ! "  sez  I,  an'  my  head  rang  like  a  guard-room 
gong :  "  f  what  is  the  blame  that  this  young  man  must 
take  to  oblige  Tim  Vulmea  ?  "  For  'twas  Tim  Vulmea 
that  shpoke. 

'  I  turned  on  my  belly  an'  crawled  through  the  grass, 
a  bit  at  a  time,  to  where  the  spache  carne  from.  There 
was  the  twelve  av  my  room  sittin'  down  in  a  little 
patch,  the  dhry  grass  wavin'  above  their  heads  an'  the 
sin  av  black  murdher  in  their  hearts.  I  put  the  stuff 
aside  to  get  a  clear  view. 

'  "Fwhat's  that?  "  sez  wan  man,  jumpin'  up. 

' "  A  dog,"  says  Vulmea.  "  You're  a  nice  hand  to 
this  job  I  As  I  said,  Mulvaney  will  take  the  blame  — 
av  ut  comes  to  a  pinch." 

'"'Tis  harrd  to  swear  a  man's  life  away,"  sez  a 
young  wan. 

4 "  Thank  ye  for  that,"  thinks  I.  "  Now,  fwhat  the 
divil  are  Jou  paragins  conthrivin'  against  me  ?  " 

'  •"  'Tis  as  easy  as  dhrinkin'  your  quart,"  sez  Vulmea. 
"  At  seven  or  thereon,  O'Hara  will  come  acrost  to  the 
Married  Quarters,  goin'  to  call  on  Slimmy's  wife,  the 
swine !  Wan  av  us'll  pass  the  wurrd  to  the  room  an' 
we  shtart  the  divil  an'  all  av  a  shine  —  laughin'  an' 
crackin'  on  an'  t'rowin'  our  boots  about.  Thin  O'Hara 
will  come  to  give  us  the  ordher  to  be  quiet,  the  more 
by  token  bekaze  the  room-lamp  will  be  knocked  over  in 


100  BLACK  JACK 

the  larkin'.  He  will  take  the  straight  road  to  the  ind 
door  where  there's  the  lamp  in  the  veranda,  an'  that'll 
bring  him  clear  against  the  light  as  he  shtands.  He 
will  not  be  able  to  look  into  the  dhark.  Wan  av  us 
will  loose  off,  an'  a  close  shot  ut  will  be,  an'  shame  to 
the  man  that  misses.  'Twill  be  Mulvaney's  rifle,  she 
that  is  at  the  head  av  the  rack — there's  no  mistakin' 
that  long-shtocked,  cross-eyed  bitch  even  in  the  dhark." 

4  The  thief  misnamed  my  ould  firin'-piece  out  av 
jealousy  —  I  was  pershuaded  av  that  —  an'  ut  made  me 
more  angry  than  all. 

4  But  Vulmea  goes  on :  "  O'Hara  will  dhrop,  an'  by 
the  time  the  light's  lit  again,  there'll  be  some  six  av  us 
on  the  chest  av  Mulvaney,  cryin'  murdher  an'  rape. 
Mulvaney's  cot  is  near  the  ind  door,  an'  the  shmokin' 
rifle  will  be  lyin'  undher  him  whin  we've  knocked  him 
over.  We  know,  an'  all  the  rig'mint  knows,  that 
Mulvaney  has  given  O'Hara  more  lip  than  any  man  av 
us.  Will  there  be  any  doubt  at  the  Coort-Martial  ? 
Wud  twelve  honust  sodger-bhoys  swear  away  the  life 
av  a  dear,  quiet,  swate-timpered  man  such  as  is  Mul- 
vaney—  wid  his  line  av  pipe-clay  roun'  his  cot,  threat- 
enin'  us  wid  murdher  av  we  overshtepped  ut,  as  we  can 
truthful  testify?" 

4 "  Mary,  Mother  av  Mercy !  "  thinks  I  to  mesilf ;  "  it 
is  this  to  have  an  unruly  mimber  an'  fistes  fit  to  use ! 
Oh  the  sneakin'  hounds  !  " 

4  The  big  dhrops  ran  down  my  face,  for  I  was  wake 
wid  the  liquor  an'  had  not  the  full  av  my  wits  about 
me.  I  laid  shtill  an'  heard  thim  workin'  themselves  up 
to  swear  my  life  by  tellin'  tales  av  ivry  time  I  had  put 
my  mark  on  wan  or  another;  an'  my  faith,  they  was 
few  that  was  not  so  dishtinguislied.  'Twas  all  in  the 


BLACK  JACK  101 

way  av  fair  fight,  though,  for  niver  did  I  raise  my  hand 
excipt  whin  they  had  provoked  me  to  ut. 

*  "  'Tis  all  well,"  sez  wan  av  thim,  "  but  who's  to  do 
this  shootin'  ?  " 

* "  Fwhat  matther  ?  "  sez  Vulmea.  "  'Tis  Mulvaney 
will  do  that  —  at  the  Coort-Martial." 

4 "  He  will  so,"  sez  the  man,  "  but  whose  hand  is  put 
to  the  trigger  —  in  the  room  ?  " 

'"Who'll  do  ut?"  sez  Vulmea,  lookin'  round,  but 
divil  a  man  answeared.  They  began  to  dishpute  till 
Kiss,  that  was  always  playin'  Shpoil  Five,  sez :  "  Thry 
the  kyards!"  Wid  that  he  opined  his  tunic  an'  tuk 
out  the  greasy  palammers,  an'  they  all  fell  in  wid 
the  notion. 

'"Deal  on!"  sez  Vulmea,  wid  a  big  rattlin'  oath, 
"an'  the  Black  Curse  av  Shielygh  come  to  the  man 
that  will  not  do  his  duty  as  the  kyards  say.  Amin  ! " 

*"  Black  Jack  is  the  masther,"  sez  Kiss,  dealin'. 
Black  Jack,  Sorr,  I  shud  expaytiate  to  you,  is  the  Ace 
av  Shpades  which  from  time  immimorial  has  been  inti- 
mately connect  wid  battle,  murdher  an'  sudclin  death. 

lWans*  Kiss  dealt  an'  there  was  no  sign,  but  the 
men  was  whoite  wid  the  workin's  av  their  sowls. 
Twice  Kiss  dealt,  an'  there  was  a  gray  shine  on  their 
cheeks  like  the  mess  av  an  egg.  Three  times  Kiss  dealt 
an'  they  was  blue.  "Have  ye  not  lost  him?"  sez  Vul- 
mea, wipin'  the  sweat  on  him ;  "  Let's  ha'  done  quick  I  " 
"  Quick  ut  is,"  sez  Kiss  t'rowin'  him  the  kyard ;  an'  ut 
fell  face  up  on  his  knee  —  Black  Jack  ! 

'  Thin  they  all  cackled  wid  laughin'.  "  Duty  thrip- 
pence,"  sez  wan  av  thim,  "an'  damned  cheap  at  that 
price ! "  But  I  cud  see  they  all  dhrew  a  little  away 
from  Vulmea  an'  lef  him  sittin'  playin'  wid  the  kyard. 


102  BLACK  JACK 

Vulmea  sez  no  word  for  a  whoile  but  licked  his  lips  — 
cat-ways.  Thin  he  threw  up  his  head  an'  made  the 
men  swear  by  ivry  oath  known  to  stand  by  him  not 
alone  in  the  room  but  at  the  Coort-Martial  that  was  to 
set  on  me  !  He  tould  off  five  av  the  biggest  to  stretch 
me  on  my  cot  whin  the  shot  was  fired,  an'  another  man 
he  tould  off  to  put  out  the  light,  an'  yet  another  to  load 
my  rifle.  He  wud  not  do  that  himself ;  an'  that  was 
quare,  for  'twas  but  a  little  thing  considerin'. 

*  Thin  they  swore  over  again  that  they  wud  not  be- 
thray  wan  another,  an'  crep'  out  av  the  grass  in  diff'rint 
ways,  two  by  two.     A  mercy  ut  was  that  they  did  not 
come  on  me.     I  was  sick  wid  fear  in  the  pit  av   my 
Btummick  — sick,  sick,  sick !      Afther  they  was  all  gone, 
I  wint  back  to  Canteen  an'  called  for  a  quart  to  put  a 
thought  in  me.     Vulmea  was  there,  dhrinkin'  heavy,  an' 
politeful  to  me  beyond  reason.     "Fwhat  will  I  do  — 
f  what  will  I  do  ?  "  thinks  I  to  mesilf  whin  Vulmea  wint 
away. 

*  Presintly  the  Arm'rer  Sargint  comes  in  stifnn'  an' 
crackin'  on,  not  pleased  wid  any  wan,  bekaze  the  Martini 
Henri  bein'  new  to  the  rig'mint  in  those  days  we  used 
to  play  the  mischief  wid  her  arrangemints.     'Twas  a 
long  time  before  I  cud  get  out  av  the  way  av  thryin'  to 
pull  back  the  back-sight  an'  turnin'  her  over  afther  firm' 
• —  as  if  she  was  a  Snider. 

4  "  Fwhat  tailor-men  do  they  give  me  to  work  wid  ?  " 
6ez  the  Arm'rer  Sargint.  "  Here's  Hogan,  his  nose  flat 
as  a  table,  laid  by  for  a  week,  an'  ivry  Comp'ny  sendin' 
their  arrunis  in  knocked  to  small  shivreens." 

'"Fwhat's  wrong  wid  Hogan,  Sargint?"  sez  I. 

' "  Wrong  !  "  sez  the  Arm'rer  Sargint ;  "  I  showed 
him,  as  though  I  had  been  his  mother,  the  way  av 


BLAtJK  JACK  103 

shtrippin*  a  'Tini,  an'  he  shtrup  her  clane  an'  easy.  I 
tould  him  to  put  her  to  again  an'  fire  a  blank  into  the 
blow-pit  to  show  how  the  dirt  hung  on  the  groovin'. 
He  did  that,  but  he  did  not  put  in  the  pin  av  the  fallin'- 
block,  an'  av  coorse  whin  he  fired  he  was  strook  by  the 
block  jumpin'  clear.  Well  for  him  'twas  but  a  blank  — 
a  full  charge  wud  ha'  cut  his  oi  out." 

*  I  looked  a  thrifle  wiser  than  a  boiled  sheep's  head. 
"Hows  that,  Sargint?"  sez  I. 

'"This  way,  ye  blundheriii'  man,  an'  don't  you  be 
doin'  ut,"  sez  he.  Wid  that  he  shows  me  a  Waster 
action  —  the  breech  av  her  all  cut  away  to  show  the  in- 
side —  an'  so  plazed  he  was  to  grumble  that  he  dimon- 
strated  f what  Hogan  had  done  twice  over.  "  An'  that 
comes  av  not  knowin'  the  wepping  you're  purvided 
wid,"  sez  he. 

'"Thank  ye,  Sargint,"  sez  I;  "I  will  come  to  you 
again  for  further  information." 

'  "  Ye  will  not,"  sez  he.  "  Kape  your  clanin'-rod 
away  from  the  breech-pin  or  you  will  get  into  throuble." 

'I  wint  outside  an'  I  could  ha'  danced  wid  delight 
for  the  grandeur  av  ut.  "  They  will  load  my  rifle,  good 
luck  to  thim,  whoile  I'm  away,"  thinks  I,  and  back  I 
wint  to  the  Canteen  to  give  them  their  clear  chanst. 

'  The  Canteen  was  fillin'  wid  men  at  the  ind  av  the 
day.  I  made  feign  to  be  far  gone  in  dhrink,  an',  wan  by 
wan,  all  my  roomful  came  in  wid  Vulmea.  I  wint 
away,  walkin'  thick  an'  heavy,  but  not  so  thick  an' 
heavy  that  any  wan  cud  ha'  tuk  me.  Sure  and  thrue, 
there  was  a  kyartridge  gone  from  my  pouch  an'  lyin' 
snug  in  my  rifle.  I  was  hot  wid  rage  against  thim  all 
an"  I  worried  the  bullet  out  wid  my  teeth  as  iast  as  i 
cud,  the  room  bein'  empty.  Then  I  tuk  my  boot  an' 


104  BLACK  JACK 

the  clanin'-rod  and  knocked  out  the  pin  av  the  fallin'- 
block.  Oh,  'twas  music  when  that  pin  rowled  on  the 
flure !  I  put  ut  into  my  pouch  an'  stuck  a  dab  av  dirt 
on  the  holes  in  the  plate,  puttin'  the  fallin'-block  back. 
"  That'll  do  your  business,  Vulmea,"  sez  I,  lyin'  easy  on 
the  cot.  "  Come  an'  sit  on  my  chest  the  whole  room  av 
you,  an'  I  will  take  you  to  my  bosom  for  the  biggest 
divils  that  iver  cheated  halter."  I  wud  have  no  mercy 
on  Vulmea.  His  oi  or  his  life  —  little  I  cared  ! 

4  At  dusk  they  came  back,  the  twelve  av  thim,  an' 
they  had  all  been  dhrinkin'.  I  was  shammin'  sleep  on 
the  cot.  Wan  man  wint  outside  in  the  veranda.  Whin 
he  whishtled  they  began  to  rage  roun'  the  room  an' 
carry  on  tremenjus.  But  I  niver  want  to  hear  men 
laugh  as  they  did  —  skylarkin'  too !  'T was  like  mad 
jackals. 

4 "  Shtop  that  blasted  noise  !  "  sez  O'Hara  in  the  dark, 
an'  pop  goes  the  room  lamp.  I  cud  hear  O'Hara  runnin' 
up  an'  the  rattlin'  av  my  rifle  in  the  rack  an'  the  men 
breathin'  heavy  as  they  stud  roun'  my  cot.  I  cud  see 
O'Hara  in  the  light  av  the  veranda  lamp,  an'  thin  I 
heard  the  crack  av  my  rifle.  She  cried  loud,  poor  darl- 
int,  bein'  mishandled.  Next  minut'  five  men  were  hould- 
in'  me  down.  "  Go  easy,"  I  sez  ;  4t  f what's  ut  all  about  ?  'v 

4  Thin  Vulmea,  on  the  flure,  raised  a  howl  yoa  cud 
hear  from  wan  ind  av  cantonmints  to  the  other.  "  I'm 
dead,  I'm  butchered,  I'm  blind !  "  sez  he.  "  Saints  have 
mercy  on  my  sinful  sowl !  Sind  for  Father  Constant ! 
Oh  sind  for  Father  Constant  an'  let  me  go  clean  ! "  By 
that  I  knew  he  was  not  so  dead  as  I  cud  ha'  wished. 

4  O'Hara  picks  up  the  lamp  in  the  veranda  wid  a  hand 
as  stiddy  as  a  rest.  "  Fwhat  damned  dog's  thrick  is 
this  av  yours?"  sez  he,  and  turns  the  light  011  Tim 


BLACK  JACK  105 

Vulmea  that  was  shwimmin'  in  blood  from  top  to  toe. 
The  fallin'-block  had  sprung  free  behin'  a  full  charge  av 
powther  —  good  care  I  tuk  to  bite  down  the  brass  afther 
takin'  out  the  bullet  that  there  might  be  somethin'  to 
give  ut  full  worth  —  an'  had  cut  Tim  from  the  lip  to 
the  corner  av  the  right  eye,  lavin'  the  eyelid  in  tatthers, 
an'  so  up  an'  along  by  the  forehead  to  the  hair.  'Twas 
more  av  a  rakin'  plough,  if  you  will  ondherstand,  than 
a  clean  cut ;  an'  niver  did  I  see  a  man  bleed  as  Vulmea 
did.  The  dhrink  an'  the  stew  that  he  was  in  pumped 
the  blood  strong.  The  minut'  the  men  sittin'  on  my 
chest  heard  OTIara  spakin'  they  scatthered  each  wan  to 
his  cot,  an'  cried  out  very  politeful :  "  Fwhat  is  ut,  Sar- 
gint?" 

' "  Fwhat  is  ut ! "  sez  O'Hara,  snakin'  Tim.  "  Well 
an'  good  do  you  know  fwhat  ut  is,  ye  skulkin'  ditch- 
lurkin'  dogs !  Get  a  doolie,  an'  take  this  whimperin' 
scutt  away.  There  will  be  more  heard  av  ut  than  any 
av  you  will  care  for." 

'Vulmea  sat  up  rockin'  his  head  in  his  hand  an' 
moanin'  for  Father  Constant. 

' "  Be  done  ! "  sez  O'Hara,  dhraggin'  him  up  by  the 
hair.  "  You're  none  so  dead  that  you  cannot  go  fifteen 
years  for  tliryin'  to  shoot  me." 

' "  I  did  not,"  sez  Vulmea ;  "  I  was  shootin'  mesilf." 

4 "  That's  quare,"  sez  O'Hara,  "  for  the  front  av  my 
jackut  is  black  wid  your  powther."  He  tuk  up  the 
rifle  that  was  still  warm  an'  began  to  laugh.  "I'll 
make  your  life  Hell  to  yon,"  sez  he,  "for  attempted 
murdher  an'  kapin'  your  rifle  onproperly.  You'll  be 
hanged  first  an'  thin  put  undher  stoppages  for  four 
fifteen.  The  rifle's  done  for,"  sez  he. 

' "  Why,  'tis  my  rifle ! "  sez    I,  comin'  up   to   look  •, 


106  BLACK  JACK 

"Vulmea,  ye  divil,  fwhat  were  you  doin*  wid  her— 
answer  me  that  ?  " 

* "  Lave  me  alone,"  sez  Vulmea ;  "  I'm  dyin' ! " 

* "  I'll  wait  till  you're  betther,"  sez  I,  "  an'  thin  we 
two  will  talk  ut  out  umbrageous." 

*  O'Hara  pitched  Tim  into  the  doohe,  none  too  tinder, 
but  all  the  bhoys  kep'  by  their  cots,  which  was  not  the 
sign  av  innocint  men.  I  was  huntin'  ivrywhere  for  my 
fallin'-block,  but  not  findin'  ut  at  all.  I  niver  found  ut. 

'  "  Now  fwhat  will  I  do  ?  "  sez  O'Hara,  swinging  the 
veranda  light  in  his  hand  an'  lookin'  down  the  room. 
I  had  hate  and  contimpt  av  O'Hara  an'  I  have  now, 
dead  tho'  he  is,  but,  for  all  that,  will  I  say  he  was  a 
brave  man.  He  is  baskin'  in  Purgathory  this  tide,  but 
I  wish  he  cud  hear  that,  whin  he  stud  lookin'  down 
the  room  an'  the  bhoys  shivered  before  the  oi  av  him,  I 
knew  him  for  a  brave  man  an'  I  liked  him  so. 

'  "  Fwhat  will  I  do  ?  "  sez  O'Hara  agin,  an'  we  heard 
the  voice  av  a  woman  low  an'  sof  in  the  veranda.  'Twas 
Slimmy's  wife,  come  over  at  the  shot,  sittin'  on  wan  av 
the  benches  an'  scarce  able  to  walk. 

'  "  O  Denny !  —  Denny,  dear,"  sez  she,  "  have  they  kilt 

you?" 

'  O'Hara  looked  down  the  room  again  an'  showed  his 
teeth  to  the  gum.  Then  he  spat  on  the  flure. 

' "  You're  not  worth  ut,"  sez  he.  "  Light  that  lamp, 
ye  dogs,"  an'  wid  that  he  turned  away,  an'  I  saw  him 
walkin'  off  wid  Slimmy's  wife  ;  she  thryin'  to  wipe  off 
the  powther-black  on  the  front  av  his  jackut  wid  her 
handkerchief.  "A  brave  man  you  are,"  thinks  I  —  "a 
brave  man  an'  a  bad  woman." 

'No  wan  said  a  word  for  a  time.  They  was  all 
ashamed,  past  spache. 


BLACK  JACK  107 

*  "  Fwhat  d'you  think  he  will  do  ?"  sez  wan  av  thim 
at  last.  "  He  knows  we're  all  in  ut." 

4 "  Are  we  so  ?  "  sez  I  from  my  cot.  "  The  man  that 
sez  that  to  me  will  be  hurt.  I  do  not  know,"  sez  I, 
44  fwhat  onderhaiid  divilmint  yon  have  conthrived,  but 
by  what  I've  seen  I  know  that  you  cannot  commit 
murdher  wid  another  man's  rifle  —  such  shakin'  cowards 
you  are.  I'm  goin'  to  slape,"  I  sez,  "  an'  you  can  blow 
my  head  off  whoile  I  lay."  I  did  not  slape,  though,  for 
a  long  time.  Can  ye  wonder  ? 

4  Next  morn  the  news  was  through  all  the  rig'mint, 
an'  there  was  nothin'  that  the  men  did  not  tell.  O'Hara 
reports,  fair  an'  easy,  that  Vulmea  was  come  to  grief 
through  tamperin'  wid  his  rifle  in  barricks,  all  for  to 
show  the  mechanism.  An'  by  my  sowl,  he  had  the  im- 
part'nince  to  say  that  he  was  on  the  shpot  at  the  time 
an'  cud  certify  that  ut  was  an  accidint !  You  might  ha' 
knocked  my  roomful  down  wid  a  straw  whin  they  heard 
that.  'Twas  lucky  for  thim  that  the  bhoys  were  always 
thryin'  to  find  out  how  the  new  rifle  was  made,  an'  a  lot 
av  thim  had  come  up  for  easin'  the  pull  by  shtickin'  bits 
av  grass  an'  such  in  the  part  av  the  lock  that  showed 
near  the  thrigger.  The  first  issues  of  the  'Tinis  was  not 
covered  in,  an'  I  mesilf  have  eased  the  pull  av  mine  time 
an'  agin.  A  light  pull  is  ten  points  on  the  range  to  me. 

' "  I  w'M  not  have  this  foolishness !  "  sez  the  Colonel. 
44 1  will  twist  the  tail  off  Vulmea !  "  sez  he ;  but  whin  he 
saw  him,  all  tied  up  an'  groanin'  in  hospital,  he  changed 
his  will.  "  Make  him  an  early  convalescing"  sez  he  to 
the  Doctor,  an'  Vulmea  was  made  so  for  a  warnin'.  His 
big  bloody  bandages  an'  face  puckered  up  to  wan  side 
did  more  to  kape  the  bhoys  from  messiu'  wid  the  insides 
av  their  rifles  than  any  punish  mint. 


108  BLACK  JACK 

'  O'Hara  gave  no  reason  for  f what  he'd  said,  an'  all 
my  roomful  were  too  glad  to  inquire,  tho'  he  put  his 
spite  upon  thim  more  wearin'  than  before.  Wan  day, 
howiver,  he  tuk  me  apart  very  polite,  for  he  cud  be  that 
at  the  choosin'. 

4 "  You're  a  good  sodger,  tho'  you're  a  damned  inso- 
lint  man,"  sez  he. 

4 "  Fair  words,  Sargint,"  sez  I,  "  or  I  may  be  insolint 
again." 

4 "  'Tis  not  like  you,"  sez  he,  "  to  lave  your  rifle  in 
the  rack  widout  the  breech-pin,  for  widout  the  breech- 
pin  she  was  whin  Vulmea  fired.  I  should  ha'  found 
the  break  av  ut  in  the  eyes  av  the  holes,  else,"  he  sez. 

'"Sargint,"  sez  I,  "fwhat  wud  your  life  ha'  been 
worth  av  the  breech-pin  had  been  in  place,  for,  on  my 
•.owl,  my  life  wud  be  worth  just  as  much  to  me  av  I 
tould  you  whether  ut  was  or  was  not.  Be  thankful 
the  bullet  was  not  there,"  I  sez. 

4 "  That's  thrue,"  sez  he,  pulling  his  moustache ;  "  but 
I  do  not  believe  that  you,  for  all  your  lip,  was  in  that 
business." 

4 "  Sargint,"  sez  I,  "  I  cud  hammer  the  life  out  av  a 
man  in  ten  minuts  wid  my  fistes  if  that  man  dishpleased 
me ;  for  I  am  a  good  sodger,  an'  I  will  be  threated  as 
such,  an'  whoile  my  fistes  are  my  own  they're  strong 
enough  for  all  work  I  have  to  do.  They  do  not  fly 
back  towards  me !  "  sez  I,  lookin'  him  betune  the  eyes. 

* "  You're  a  good  man,"  sez  he,  lookin'  me  betune  the 
eyes  —  an'  oh  he  was  a  gran'-built  man  to  see !  • — 
"you're  a  good  man,"  he  sez,  "an'  I  cud  wish,  for  the 
pure  frolic  av  ut,  that  I  was  not  a  Sargint,  or  that  you 
were  not  a  Privit;  an'  you  will  think  me  no  coward 
whin  I  say  this  thing." 


BLACK  JACK  109 

' "  I  do  not,"  sez  I.  "  I  saw  you  whin  Vulmea  mis- 
handled the  rifle.  But,  Sargint,"  I  sez,  "  take  the 
wurrd  from  me  now,  spakin'  as  man  to  man  wid  the 
shtripes  off,  tho'  'tis  little  right  I  have  to  talk,  me  being 
fwhat  I  am  by  natur'.  This  time  ye  tuk  no  harm,  an' 
next  time  ye  may  not,  but,  in  the  ind,  so  sure  as  Slirn- 
my's  wife  came  into  the  veranda,  so  sure  will  ye  take 
harm  —  an'  bad  harm.  Have  thought,  Sargint,"  sez  I. 
"  Is  ut  worth  ut  ?  " 

4 "  Ye're  a  bould  man,"  sez  he,  breathin'  harrd.  "  A 
very  bould  man.  But  I  am  a  bould  man  tu.  Do  you 
go  your  way,  Privit  Mulvaney,  an'  I  will  go  mine." 

'  We  had  no  further  spache  thin  or  af ther,  but,  wan 
by  another,  he  drafted  the  twelve  av  my  room  out  into 
other  rooms  an'  got  thim  spread  among  the  Comp'nies, 
for  they  was  not  a  good  breed  to  live  together,  an'  the 
Comp'ny  orf'cers  saw  ut.  They  wud  ha'  shot  me  in  the 
night  av  they  had  known  fwhat  I  knew;  but  that  they 
did  not. 

'An',  in  the  ind,  as  I  said,  O'Hara  met  his  death 
from  Rafferty  for  foolin'  wid  his  wife.  He  wint  his 
own  way  too  well  —  Eyah,  too  well !  Shtraight  to 
that  affair,  widout  turnin'  to  the  right  or  to  the  lef, 
he  wint,  an'  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  his  sowl. 
Amin ! ' 

'  'Ear !  'Ear ! '  said  Ortheris,  pointing  the  moral  with 
a  wave  of  his  pipe.  'An'  this  is  'ira  'oo  would  be  a 
bloomin'  Vulmea  all  for  the  sake  of  Mullins  an'  a 
bloomin'  button  !  Mullins  never  went  after  a  woman 
in  his  life.  Mrs.  Mullins,  she  saw  'im  one  day ' 

'  Ortheris,'  I  said,  hastily,  for  the  romances  of  Private 
Ortheris  are  all  too  daring  for  publication,  '  look  at  the 
<*un.  It's  a  quarter  past  six ! ' 


BLACK  JACK 

'  O  Lord  I  Three  quarters  of  an  hour  for  five  an'  a 
arf  miles !  We'll  'ave  to  run  like  Jimmy  O.' 

The  Three  Musketeers  clambered  on  to  the  bridge, 
and  departed  hastily  in  the  direction  of  the  cantonment 
road.  When  I  overtook  them  I  offered  them  two  stir- 
rups and  a  tail,  which  they  accepted  enthusiastically. 
Ortheris  held  the  tail,  and  in  this  manner  we  trotted 
steadily  through  the  shadows  by  an  unfrequented  road. 

At  the  turn  into  the  cantonments  we  heard  carriage 

O 

wheels.  It  was  the  Colonel's  barouche,  and  in  it  sat 
the  Colonel's  wife  and  daughter.  I  caught  a  suppressed 
chuckle,  and  my  beast  sprang  forward  with  a  lighter 
step. 

The  Three  Musketeers  had  vanished  into  the  night. 


POOR  DEAR  MAMMA 

The  wild  hawk  to  the  wind-swept  sky, 

The  deer  to  the  wholesome  wold, 
And  the  heart  of  a  man  to  the  heart  of  a  maid, 

As  it  was  in  the  days  of  old. 

Gypsy  Song. 

SCENE. — Interior  of  Miss   MINNIE   THREEGAN'S  bed- 
room at  Simla.     Miss   THREEGAN,   in  window-seat, 
turning  over  a  draiverful  of  things.    Miss  EMMA  DEER- 
COURT,  bosom-friend,  who  has  come  to  spend  the  day,  sit- 
ting on  the  bed,  manipulating  the  bodice  of  a  ballroom 
frock  and  a  bunch  of  artificial  lilies  of  the  valley.     Time, 
5.30  P.M.  on  a  hot  May  afternoon. 
Miss  DEERCOURT.     And  he  said:  ' I  shall  never  for- 
get this  dance,'  and,  of  course,  I  said :  '  Oh !  how  can 
you  be  so  silly!'     Do   you  think  he  meant  anything, 
dear? 

Miss  THREEGAN.  (Extracting  long  lavender  silk 
stocking  from  the  rubbish.)  You  know  him  better  than 
/do. 

Mrss  D.  Oh,  do  be  sympathetic,  Minnie!  I'm  *ure 
he  does.  At  least  I  would  be  sure  if  he  wasn't  always 
riding  with  that  odious  Mrs.  Hagan. 

Miss  T.  I  suppose  so.  How  does  one  manage  to 
dance  through  one's  heels  first  ?  Look  at  this  —  isn't  it 
shameful?  (Spreads  stocking-heel  on  open  hand  for 
inspection.^ 

Miss  D.     Never  mind  that  !     You  can't   mend   it. 

Ill 


112  POOR  DEAR  MAMMA 

Help  me  with  this  hateful  bodice,  I've  run  the  string 
so,  and  I've  run  the  string  so,  and  I  can't  make  the  ful- 
ness come  right.  Where  would  you  put  this  ?  (  Waves 
lilies  of  the  valley. ) 

Miss  T.     As  high  up  on  the  shoulder  as  possible. 

Miss  D.  Am  I  quite  tall  enough?  I  know  it  makes 
May  Olger  look  lop-sided. 

Miss  T.  Yes,  but  May  hasn't  your  shoulders. 
Hers  are  like  a  hock-bottle. 

BEAEEB,     (Rapping  at  door.*)     Captain  Sahib  ay  a. 

Miss  D.  (Jumping  up  wildly,  and  hunting  for  body, 
which  she  has  discarded  owing  to  the  heat  of  the  day.) 
Captain  Sahib!  What  Captain  Sahib?  Oh,  good  gra- 
cious, and  I'm  only  half  dressed !  Well,  I  sha'n't  bother. 

Miss  T.  (Calmly. ~)  You  needn't.  It  isn't  for  us. 
That's  Captain  Gadsby.  He  is  going  for  a  ride  with 
Mamma.  He  generally  comes  five  days  out  of  the 
seven. 

AGONISED  VOICE.  (From  an  inner  apartment.) 
Minnie,  run  out  and  give  Captain  Gadsby  some  tea, 
and  tell  him  I  shall  be  ready  in  ten  minutes;  and,  O 
Minnie,  come  to  me  an  instant,  there's  a  dear  girl ! 

Miss  T.  Oh,  bother!  (Aloud.)  Very  well, 
Mamma. 

Exit,  and  reappears,  after  jive  minutes,  flushed,  and 
rubbing  her  fingers, 

Miss  D.     You  look  pink.     What  has  happened  ? 

Miss  T.  (In  a  stage  whisper.)  A  twenty-four-inch 
waist,  and  she  won't  let  it  out.  Where  are  my  bangles? 
(Rummages  on  the  toilet-table,  and  dabs  at  her  hair  with 
a  brush  in  the  interval.) 

Miss  D.  Who  is  this  Captain  Gadsby?  I  don't 
think  I've  met  him. 


POOR   DEAR   MAMMA  113 

Miss  T.  You  must  have.  He  belongs  to  the  Harrar 
set.  I've  danced  with  him,  but  I've  never  talked  to 
him.  He's  a  big  yellow  man,  just  like  a  newly-hatched 
chicken,  with  an  e-normous  moustache.  He  walks  like 
this  (imitates  Cavalry  swagger),  and  he  goes  'Ha  — 
Hmmm! '  deep  down  in  his  throat  when  he  can't  think 
of  anything  to  say.  Mamma  likes  him.  I  don't. 

Miss  D.  (Abstractedly.)  Does  he  wax  that  mous- 
tache? 

Miss  T.  (Busy  with  powder-puff.)  Yes,  I  think  so. 
Why? 

Miss  D.  (Sending  over  the  bodice  and  sewing  furi- 
ously.) Oh,  nothing  —  only  — 

Miss  T.  (Sternly.)  Only  what?  Out  with  it, 
Emma. 

Miss  D.  Well,  May  Olger  —  she's  engaged  to  Mr. 
Charteris,  you  know  —  said  —  Promise  you  won't 
repeat  this? 

Miss  T.     Yes,  I  promise.     What  did  she  say? 

Miss  D.  That  —  that  being  kissed  (with  a  rush)  by 
a  man  who  didn't  wax  his  moustache  was  —  like  eating 
an  egg  without  salt. 

Miss  T.  (At  her  full  height,  with  crushing  scorn.) 
May  Olger  is  a  horrid,  nasty  Thing,  and  you  can  tell 
her  I  said  so.  I'm  glad  she  doesn't  belong  to  my  set  — 
I  must  go  and  feed  this  man  !  Do  I  look  presentable  ? 

Miss  D.  Yes,  perfectly.  Be  quick  and  hand  him 
over  to  your  Mother,  and  then  we  can  talk.  1  shall 
listen  at  the  door  to  hear  what  you  say  to  him. 

Miss  T.  'Sure  I  don't  care.  I'm  not  afraid  of  Cap- 
tain Gadsby. 

In  proof  of  this  swings  into  drawing-room  with  a  mannish 
stride  followed  by  two  short  stc.ps,  which  produces 


114  POOR  DEAR  MAMMA 

the  effect  of  a  restive  horse  entering.  Misses  CAP- 
TAIN GADSBY,  who  is  sitting  in  the  shadow  of  the 
window-curtain,  and  gazes  round  helplessly. 

CAPTAIN  GADSBY.  (Aside.}  The  filly,  by  Jovei 
'Must  ha'  picked  up  that  action  from  the  sire.  (Aloud, 
rising.}  Good  evening,  Miss  Threegan. 

Mrss  T.  (Conscious  that  she  is  flushing.}  Good 
evening,  Captain  Gadsby.  Mamma  told  me  to  say  that 
she  will  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes.  Won't  you  have 
some  tea?  (Aside.}  I  hope  Mamma  will  be  quick. 
What  am  I  to  say  to  the  creature?  (Aloud  and 
abruptly.}  Milk  and  sugar? 

CAPT.  G.  No  sugar,  tha-anks,  and  very  little  milk. 
Ha-Hmmm. 

Miss  T.  (Aside.}  If  he's  going  to  do  that,  I'm 
lost.  I  shall  laugh.  I  know  I  shall ! 

CAPT.  G.  (Pulling  at  his  moustache  and  watching  it 
sideways  down  his  nose.}  Ha-Hmmm.  (Aside.}  'Won- 
der what  the  little  beast  can  talk  about.  'Must  make  a 
shot  at  it. 

Miss  T.  (Aside.}  Oh,  this  is  agonising.  I  must 
say  something. 

BOTH  TOGETHER.     Have  you  been 

CAPT.  G.  I  beg  your  pardon.  You  were  going  to 
say 

Miss  T.  (  WJio  has  been  watching  the  moustache  with 
awed  fascination.}  Won't  you  have  some  eggs? 

CAPT.  G.  (Looking  bewilderedly  at  the  tea-table.} 
Eggs !  ( Aside.}  O  Hades !  She  must  have  a  nursery- 
tea  at  this  hour.  S'pose  they've  wiped  her  mouth  and 
sent  her  to  me  while  the  Mother  is  getting  on  her 
duds.  (Aloud.}  No,  thanks. 

Miss  T.     (Crimson  witn  confusion.}     Oh!     I  didn't 


POOR  DEAR   MAMMA  US 

mean  that.  I  wasn't  thinking  of  mou  —  eggs  for  an 
instant.  I  mean  salt.  Won't  you  have  some  sa — 
sweets  ?  (Aside.')  He'll  think  me  a  raving  lunatic. 
I  wish  Mamrna  would  come. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  It  was  a  nursery-tea  and  she's 
ashamed  of  it.  By  Jove !  She  doesn't  look  half  bad 
when  she  colours  up  like  that.  (Aloud,  helping  himself 
from  the  dish.)  Have  you  seen  those  new  chocolates  at 
Peliti's? 

Miss  T.  No,  I  made  these  myself.  What  are  they 
like? 

CAPT.  G.  These !  De-licious.  (Aside.)  And  that's 
a  fact. 

Miss  T.  (Aside.)  Oh,  bother!  he'll  think  I'm  fish- 
ing for  compliments.  (Aloud.)  No,  Peliti's  of  course. 

CAPT.  G.  (Enthusiastically.)  Not  to  compare  with 
these.  How  d'you  make  them?  I  can't  get  my  Jchansa- 
mah  to  understand  the  simplest  thing  beyond  mutton 
and  fowl. 

Miss  T.  Yes  ?  I'm  not  a  khansamah,  you  know. 
Perhaps  you  frighten  him.  You  should  never  frighten 
a  servant.  He  loses  his  head.  It's  very  bad  policy. 

CAPT.  G.     He's  so  awf'ly  stupid. 

Miss  T.  (Folding  her  hands  in  her  lap,)  You 
should  call  him  quietly  and  say .  '  O  hhansamah  j'ee  ! ' 

('APT.  G.  (G-etting  interested.)  Yes?  (Aside.) 
Fancy  that  little  featherweight  saying,  1O  khansamah 
jee '  to  my  bloodthirsty  Mir  Khan! 

Miss  T,  Then  you  should  explain  the  dinner,  dish 
by  dish. 

CAPT,  G.     But  I  can't  speak  the  vernacular. 

Miss  T,  (Patronisingfy.)  You  should  pass  the 
Higher  Standard  and  try. 


116  POOR  DEAR  MAMMA 

CAPT.  G.  I  have,  but  I  don't  seem  to  be  any  the 
wiser.  Are  you? 

Miss  T.  I  never  passed  the  Higher  Standard.  But 
the  khansamah  is  very  patient  with  me.  He  doesn't 
get  angry  when  I  talk  about  sheep's  topees,  or  order 
maunds  of  grain  when  I  mean  seers. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside,  with  intense  indignation.*)  I'd  like 
to  see  Mir  Khan  being  rude  to  that  girl  I  Hullo ! 
Steady  the  Buffs  !  (Aloud, }  And  do  you  understand 
about  horses,  too  ? 

Miss  T.  A  little — not  very  much.  I  can't  doctor 
them,  but  I  know  what  they  ought  to  eat,  and  I  am  in 
charge  of  our  stable. 

CAPT.  G.  Indeed!  You  might  help  me  then. 
What  ought  a  man  to  give  his  sais  in  the  Hills?  My 
ruffian  says  eight  rupees,  because  everything  is  so  dear. 

Miss  T.  Six  rupees  a  month,  and  one  rupee  Simla 
allowance — neither  more  nor  less.  And  a  grass-cut 
gets  six  rupees.  That's  better  than  buying  grass  in  the 
bazar. 

CAPT.  G.     {Admiringly.}     How  do  you  know? 

Miss  T.     I  have  tried  both  ways. 

CAPT.  G.  Do  you  ride  much,  then?  I've  never  seen 
you  on  the  Mall. 

Miss  T.  {Aside.}  I  haven't  passed  him  more  than 
fifty  times.  {Aloud.}  Nearly  every  day. 

CAPT.  G.  By  Jove!  .1  didn't  know  that.  Ha- 
Hmmm !  {Pulls  at  his  moustache  and  is  silent  for  forty 
seconds} 

Miss  T,  {Desperately,  and  wondering  what  will  hap- 
pen next}  It  looks  beautiful.  I  shouldn't  touch  it  if 
I  were  you.  {Aside,}  It's  all  Mamma's  fault  for  not 
cominir  before.  I  will  be  rude ! 


POOR   DEAR   MAMMA  117 

CAPT.  G.  (Bronzing  under  the  tan  and  bringing  down 
his  hand  very  quickly.')  Eh!  Wha-at!  Oh,  yes!  Ha! 
Ha!  (Laughs  uneasily.)  (Aside.)  Well,  of  all  the 
dashed  cheek !  I  never  had  a  woman  say  that  to  me 
yet.  She  must  be  a  cool  hand  or  else  —  Ah !  that 
nursery -tea ! 

VOICE  FROM  THE  UNKNOWN.    Tchk  !   Tchk  !   Tchk ! 

CAPT.  G.     Good  gracious !     What's  that  ? 

Miss  T.  The  dog,  I  think.  (Aside.)  Emma  has 
been  listening,  and  I'll  never  forgive  her ! 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  They  don't  keep  dogs  here. 
(Aloud.)  'Didn't  sound  like  a  dog,  did  it  ? 

Miss  T.  Then  it  must  have  been  the  cat.  Let's  go 
into  the  veranda.  What  a  lovely  evening  it  is ! 

Steps  into  veranda  and  looks  out  across  the  hills 
into  sunset.     The  Captain  follows. 

CAPT-  G  (Aside.)  Superb  eyes !  I  wonder  that  I 
never  noticed  them  before !  (Aloud.)  There's  going 
to  be  a  dance  at  Viceregal  Lodge  on  Wednesday.  Can 
you  spare  me  one  ? 

Miss  T.  (Shortly.)  No !  I  don't  want  any  of  your 
charity-dances.  You  only  ask  me  because  Mamma 
told  you  to.  I  hop  and  I  bump.  You  know  I  do  ! 

CAPT.  G,  (Aside.)  That's  true,  but  little  girls 
shouldn't  understand  these  things.  (Aloud.)  Xo,  on 
my  word,  I  don't.  You  dance  beautifully. 

Miss  T,  Then  why  do  you  always  stand  out  after 
half  a  dozen  turns?  I  thought  officers  in  the  Army 
didn't  tell  fibs. 

CAPT.  G.  It  wasn't  a  fib,  believe  me.  I  really  do 
want  the  pleasure  of  a  dance  with  you. 

Miss  T.  (Wickedly.)  Why?  Won't  Mamma  dance 
with  you  any  more  ? 


118  POOR   DEAR   MAMMA 

CAPT.  G.  (More,  earnestly  than  the  necessity  de~ 
mands.)  I  wasn't  thinking  of  your  Mother.  (Aside.) 
You  little  vixen  I 

Miss  T.  (Still  looking  out  of  the  window.)  Eh? 
Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  was  thinking  of  something 
else. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  Well !  I  wonder  what  she'll  say 
next.  I've  never  known  a  woman  treat  me  like  this  be- 
fore. I  might  be  —  Dash  it,  I  might  be  an  Infantry 
subaltern !  (Aloud.)  Oh,  please  don't  trouble.  I'm 
not  worth  thinking  about.  Isn't  your  Mother  ready 
yet? 

Miss  T.  I  should  think  so ;  but  promise  me,  Captain 
Gadsby,  you  won't  take  poor  dear  Mamma  twice  round 
Jakko  any  more.  It  tires  her  so. 

CAPT.  G.     She  says  that  no  exercise  tires  her. 

Miss  T.  Yes,  but  she  suffers  afterwards.  You  don't 
know  what  rheumatism  is,  and  you  oughtn't  to  keep 
her  out  so  late,  when  it  gets  chill  in  the  evenings. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  Rheumatism !  I  thought  she 
came  off  her  horse  rather  in  a  bunch.  Whew !  One 
lives  and  learns.  (Aloud.)  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that. 
She  hasn't  mentioned  it  to  me. 

Miss  T.  (Flurried.)  Of  course  not !  Poor  dear 
Mamma  never  would.  And  you  mustn't  say  that  I  told 
you  either.  Promise  me  that  you  won't.  Oh,  Captain 
Gadsby,  promise  me  you  won't ! 

CAPT.  G.  I  am  dumb,  or  —  I  shall  be  as  soon  as 
you've  given  me  that  dance,  and  another  —  if  you  can 
trouble  yourself  to  think  about  me  for  a  minute. 

Miss  T.  But  you  won't  like  it  one  little  bit.  You'll 
be  awfully  sorry  afterwards. 

CAPT.  G.     I  shall  like  it  above  all  things,  and  I  shall 


POOR   DEAR  MAMMA  119 

only  be  sorry  that  I  didn't  get  more.  (Aside.)  Novr 
what  in  the  world  am  I  saying  ? 

Miss  T.  Very  well.  You  will  have  only  yourself 
to  thank  if  your  toes  are  trodden  on.  Shall  we  say 
Seven  ? 

CAPT.  G.  And  Eleven.  (Aside.')  She  can't  be  more 
than  eight  stone,  but,  even  then,  it's  an  absurdly  small 
foot.  (Looks  at  his  own  riding  boots.) 

Miss  T.  They're  beautifully  shiny.  I  can  almost 
see  my  face  in  them. 

CAPT.  G.  I  was  thinking  whether  I  should  have  to 
go  on  crutches  for  the  rest  of  my  life  if  you  trod  on 
my  toes. 

Miss  T.  Very  likely.  Why  not  change  Eleven  for 
a  square  ? 

CAPT.  G.  No,  please!  I  want  them  both  waltzes. 
Won't  you  write  them  down  ? 

Miss  T.  /  don't  get  so  many  dances  that  I  shall 
confuse  them.  You  will  be  the  offender. 

CAPT.  G.  Wait  and  see !  (Aside.)  She  doesn't 
dance  perfectly,  perhaps,  but 

Miss  T.  Your  tea  must  have  got  cold  by  this  time. 
Won't  you  have  another  cup  ? 

CAPT.  G.  No,  thanks.  Don't  you  think  it's  pleas- 
anter  out  in  the  veranda  ?  (Aside.)  I  never  saw  hair 
take  that  colour  in  the  sunshine  before.  (Aloud.)  It's 
like  one  of  Dicksee's  pictures. 

Miss  T.  Yes  !  It's  a  wonderful  sunset,  isn't  it  ? 
(Bluntly.)  But  what  do  you  know  about  Dicksee's 
pictures  ? 

CAPT.  G.  I  go  Home  occasionally.  And  I  used  to 
know  the  Galleries.  (Nervously.)  You  mustn't  think 
me  only  a  Philistine  with  —  a  moustache. 


120  POOR  DEAR  MAMMA 

Miss  T.  Don't !  Please  don't !  I'm  so  sorry  for 
what  I  said  then.  I  was  horribly  rude.  It  slipped  out 
before  I  thought.  Don't  you  know  the  temptation  to 
say  frightful  and  shocking  things  just  for  the  mere 
sake  of  saying  them?  I'm  afraid  I  gave  way  to  it. 

CAPT.  G.  (Watching  the  girl  as  she  flushes.')  I 
think  I  know  the  feeling.  It  would  be  terrible  if  we 
all  yielded  to  it,  wouldn't  it?  For  instance,  I  might 
say 

POOR  DEAR  MAMMA.  (Entering,  habited,  hatted,  and 
booted.*)  Ah,  Captain  Gadsby !  'Sorry  to  keep  you 
waiting.  'Hope  you  haven't  been  bored.  'My  little 
girl  been  talking  to  you  ? 

Miss  T.  (Aside.')  I'm  not  sorry  I  spoke  about  the 
rheumatism.  I'm  not!  I'm  NOT!  I  only  wish  I'd 
mentioned  the  corns  too. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.')  What  a  shame  !  I  wonder  how 
old  she  is.  It  never  occurred  to  me  before.  (Aloud.) 
We've  been  discussing  '  Shakespeare  and  the  musical 
glasses  '  in  the  veranda. 

Miss  T.  (Aside.')  Nice  man!  He  knows  that  quo 
tation.  He  isn't  a  Philistine  with  a  moustache.  (Aloud.') 
Good-bye,  Captain  Gadsby.  (Aside.~)  What  a  huge 
hand  and  what  a  squeeze  !  I  don't  suppose  he  meant  it, 
but  he  has  driven  the  rings  into  my  fingers. 

POOR  DEAR  MAMMA.  Has  Vermillion  come  round 
yet?  Oh,  yes  !  Captain  Gadsby,  don't  you  think  that 
the  saddle  is  too  far  forward  ?  ( They  pass  into  the 
front  verandah) 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.')  How  the  dickens  should  I 
know  what  she  prefers?  She  told  me  that  she  doted  on 
horses.  (Aloud.')  I  think  it  is. 

Miss  T.     {Corning   out    into  front    verandah)      Oh  I 


POOR  DEAR   MAMMA  121 

Bad  Buldoo !     I  must  speak  to  him  for  this.     He  has 
taken  up  the  curb  two  links,  and  Vermillion  hates  that. 
(Passes  out  and  to  horse's  head.') 
CAPT.  G.     Let  me  do  it ! 

Miss  T.  No,  Vermillion  understands  me.  Don't 
you,  old  man  ?  (Looses  curb-chain  skilfully,  and  pats 
horse  on  nose  and  throttle.')  Poor  Vermillion !  Did 
they  want  to  cut  his  chin  off  ?  There ! 

CAPTAIN  GADSBY  watches  the  interlude  with  un- 
disguised admiration. 

POOR  DEAR  MAMMA.  (Tartly  to  Miss  T.)  You've 
forgotten  your  guest,  I  think,  dear. 

Miss  T.  Good  gracious !  So  I  have !  Good-bye. 
(Retreats  indoors  hastily.) 

POOR  DEAR  MAMMA.  (Bunching  reins  in  fingers 
hampered  by  too  tight  gauntlets.')  Captain  Gadsby ! 

CAPTAIN  GADSBY  stoops  and  makes  the  foot-rest. 
POOR  DEAR  MAMMA  blunders,  halts  too  long, 
and  breaks  through  it. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  Can't  hold  up  eleven  stone  for 
ever.  It's  all  your  rheumatism.  (Aloud.)  Can't  im- 
agine why  I  was  so  clumsy.  (Aside.)  Now  Little 
Featherweight  would  have  gone  up  like  a  bird. 

They  ride  out  of  the  garden.     The  Captain  falls 

back. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  How  that  habit  catches  her 
under  the  arms !  Ugh  ! 

POOR  DEAR  MAMMA.  (  With  the  worn  smile  of  sixteen 
seasons,  the  worse  for  exchange.)  You're  dull  this  after- 
noon, Captain  Gadsby. 

CAPT.  G.      (Spurring  up  wearily.)      Why  did  you 
keep  me  waiting  so  long  ? 
Et  ccetera,  et  ccetera,  et  ccetera. 


122  POOR   DEAR   MAMMA 

(AN   INTERVAL   OF  THREE  WEEKS.) 

GILDED  YOUTH.  (Sitting  on  railings  opposite  Totvn 
Hall.")  Hullo,  Gaddy  !  'Been  trotting  out  the  Gorgon- 
zola !  We  all  thought  it  was  the  Gorgon  you're  mash- 
ing. 

CAPT.  G.     (With  withering  emphasis.')     You  young 

cub !     What  the does  it  matter  to  you  ? 

Proceeds  to  read  GILDED  YOUTH  a  lecture  on  dis- 
cretion and  deportment,  which  crumbles  latter 
like  a  Chinese  Lantern.  Departs  fuming . 

(FURTHER  INTERVAL  OF  FIVE  WEEKS.) 

SCENE.  —  Exterior  of  New  Simla   Library  on  a  foggy 

evening.      Miss   THREEGAN   and  Miss   DEERCOURT 

meet  among  the  'rickshaws.     Miss  T.  is  carrying  a 

bundle  of  books  under  her  left  arm. 

Miss  D.     (Level  intonation.')     Well? 

Miss  T.     (Ascending  intonation.')     Well  ? 

Miss  D.  ( Capturing  her  friend's  left  arm,  taking 
away  all  the  books,  placing  books  in  'rickshaw,  returning 
to  arm,  securing  hand  by  the  third  finger  and  investi- 
gating.') Well !  You  bad  girl !  And  you  never  told 
me. 

Miss  T.  (Demurely  ^  He  —  he  — he  only  spoke  yes- 
terday afternoon. 

Miss  D.  Bless  you,  dear!  And  I'm  to  be  bridesmaid^ 
aren't  I  ?  You  knoiv  you  promised  ever  so  long  ago. 

Miss  T.  Of  course.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  to- 
morrow. (  G-ets  into  "'rickshaw.}  O  Emma  ! 

Miss  D.     (  With  intense  interest.}     Yes,  dear  ? 


POOR   DEAR   MAMMA  123 

Miss  T.     (Piano.)     It's  quite  true  —  about  —  the  — 

egg- 
Miss  D.     What  egg? 

Miss  T.  (Pianissimo  prestissimo.)  The  egg  with- 
out the  salt.  (  Forte.)  Chalo  ghar  ko  jaldi,  jhampani : 
(Go  home,  jhampani.) 


THE  WORLD  WITHOUT 

Certain  people  of  importance. 

SCENE.  —  Smoking-room  of  the  Deychi  Club.  Time, 
10.30  P.M.  of  a  stuffy  night  in  the  Rains.  Four  men 
dispersed  in  picturesque  attitudes  and  easy-chairs.  To 
these  enter  BLAYNE  of  the  Irerrgular  Moguls,  in  evening 
dress. 

BLAYNE.  Phew!  The  Judge  ought  to  be  hanged 
in  his  own  store-godown.  Hi,  khitmatgar!  Poora 
whiskey-peg,  to  take  the  taste  out  of  my  mouth. 

CUBTISS.  (Royal  Artillery').  That's  it,  is  it?  What 
the  deuce  made  you  dine  at  the  Judge's?  You  know  his 
bandobust. 

BLAYNE.  'Thought  it  couldn't  be  worse  than  the 
Club;  but  I'll  swear  he  buys  ullaged  liquor  and  doctors 
it  with  gin  and  ink  (loolcing  round  the  room).  Is  this  all  of 
you  to-night? 

DOONE.  (P.W.D.)  Anthony  was  called  out  at  dinner. 
Mingle  had  a  pain  in  his  tummy. 

CURTISS.  Miggy  dies  of  cholera  once  a  week  in  the 
Rains,  and  gets  drunk  on  chlorodyne  in  between.  'Good 
little  chap,  though.  Any  one  at  the  Judge's,  Blayne? 

BLAYNE.  Cockley  and  his  memsahib  looking  awfully 
white  and  fagged.  'Female  girl  —  couldn't  catch  the 
name  —  on  her  way  to  the  Hills,  under  the  Cockleys* 

124 


THE    WORLD    WITHOUT  125 

charge  —  the  Judge,  and  Markyn  fresh  from  Simla  — 
disgustingly  fit. 

CURTISS.  Good  Lord,  how  truly  magnificent!  Was 
there  enough  ice?  When  I  mangled  garbage  there  I  got 
one  whole  lump  —  nearly  as  big  as  a  walnut.  What  had 
Markyn  to  say  for  himself? 

BLAYNE.  'Seems  that  every  one  is  having  a  fairly 
good  time  up  there  in  spite  of  the  rain.  By  Jove,  that 
reminds  me!  I  know  I  hadn't  come  across  just  for  the 
pleasure  of  your  society.  News!  Great  news  Markyn 
told  me. 

DOONE.     Who's  dead  now? 

BLAYNE.  No  one  that  I  know  of;  but  Gaddy's  hooked 
at  last ! 

DROPPING  CHORUS.  How  much?  The  Devil! 
Markyn  was  pulling  your  leg.  Not  GADDY  ! 

BLAYNE.  (Humming.}  'Yea,  verily,  verily,  verily! 
Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  thee.'  Theodore,  the  gift 
o'  God!  Our  Phillup!  It's  been  given  out  up 
above. 

MACKESY.  (Barrister-at-Law.}  Huh!  Women  will 
give  out  anything.  What  does  accused  say? 

BLAYNE.  Markyn  told  me  that  he  congratulated  him 
warily  —  one  hand  held  out,  t'other  ready  to  guard. 
Gaddy  turned  pink  and  said  it  was  so. 

CURTISS.  Poor  old  Gaddy!  They  all  do  it.  Who's 
she?  Let's  hear  the  details. 

BLAYNE.  She's  a  girl  —  daughter  of  a  Colonel  Some- 
body. 

DOONE.  Simla's  stiff  with  Colonels'  daughters.  Be 
more  explicit. 

BLAYNE.  Wait  a  shake.  What  was  her  name?  Three 
—  something.  Three  — 


126  THE   WORLD   WITHOUT 

CDBTISS.     Stars,  perhaps.    Gaddy  knows  that  brand. 

BLAYNE.     Threegan — Minnie  Threegan. 

MACKESY.  Threegan !  Isn't  she  a  little  bit  of  a 
girl  with  red  hair  ? 

BLAYNE.     'Bout  that  —  from  what  Markyn  said. 

MACKESY.  Then  IVe  met  her.  She  was  at  Lucknow 
last  season.  'Owned  a  permanently  juvenile  Mamma, 
and  danced  damnably.  I  say,  Jervoise,  you  knew  the 
Threegans,  didn't  you  ? 

JERVOISE.  (Civilian  of  twenty-jive  years'  service,  wak- 
ing up  from  his  doze.)  Eh?  What's  that?  Knew  who? 
How  ?  I  thought  I  was  at  Home,  confound  you  ! 

MACKESY.  The  Threegan  girl's  engaged,  so  Blayne 
says. 

JERVOISE.  (Slowly.}  Engaged  —  engaged!  Bless 
my  soul !  I'm  getting  an  old  man !  Little  Minnie 
Threegan  engaged.  It  was  only  the  other  day  I  went 
home  with  them  in  the  JSurat  —  no,  the  Massilia  —  and 
she  was  crawling  about  on  her  hands  and  knees  among 
the  ayahs.  'Used  to  call  me  the  '  Tick  Tack  Sahib ' 
because  I  showed  her  my  watch.  And  that  was  in 
Sixty-Seven  —  no,  Seventy.  Good  God,  how  time  flies ! 
I'm  an  old  man.  I  remember  when  Threegan  married 
Miss  Derwent — daughter  of  old  Hooky  Derwent — but 
that  was  before  your  time.  And  so  the  little  baby's 
engaged  to  have  a  little  baby  of  her  own !  Who's  the 
other  fool  ? 

MACKESY.     Gadsby  of  the  Pink  Hussars. 

JERVOISE.  'Never  met  him.  Threegan  lived  in  debt, 
married  in  debt,  aiid'll  die  in  debt.  'Must  be  glad  to 
get  the  girl  off  his  hands. 

BLAYNE.  Gaddy  has  money — lucky  devil.  Place 
at  Home,  too. 


THE   WORLD   WITHOUT  127 

DOONE.  He  comes  of  first-class  stock.  'Can't  quite 
understand  his  being  caught  by  a  Colonel's  daughter, 
and  (looking  cautiously  round  room)  Black  Infantry  at 
that !  No  offence  to  you,  Blayne. 

BLAYNE.     (Stiffly.}     Not  much,  tha-anks. 

CURTISS.  (  Quoting  motto  of  Irregular  Moguls.)  4  We 
are  what  we  are,'  eh,  old  man  ?  But  Gaddy  was  such  a 
superior  animal  as  a  rule.  Why  didn't  he  go  Home 
and  pick  his  wife  there? 

MACKESY.  They  are  all  alike  when  they  come  to  the 
turn  into  the  straight.  About  thirty  a  man  begins  to 
get  sick  of  Jiving  alone  — 

CURTISS.  And  of  the  eternal  muttony-chap  in  the 
morning. 

DOONE.     It's  dead  goat  as  a  rule,  but  go  on,  Mackesy. 

MACKESY.  If  a  man's  once  taken  that  way  nothing 
will  hold  him.  Do  you  remember  Benoit  of  your  ser- 
vice, Doone  ?  They  transferred  him  to  Tharanda  when 
his  time  came,  and  he  married  a  platelayer's  daughter,  or 
something  of  that  kind.  She  was  the  only  female  about 
the  place. 

DOONE.  Yes,  poor  brute.  That  smashed  Benoit's 
chances  of  promotion  altogether.  Mrs.  Benoit  used  to 
ask  :  '  Was  you  goiri'  to  the  dance  this  evenin'  ? ' 

CURTISS.  Hang  it  all !  Gaddy  hasn't  married  beneath 
him.  There's  no  tar-brush  in  the  family,  I  suppose. 

JERVOISE.  Tar-brush  !  Not  an  anna.  You  young 
fellows  talk  as  though  the  man  was  doing-  the  girl  an 
honour  in  marrying  her.  You're  all  too  conceited  — 
nothing's  good  enough  for  you. 

BLAYNE.  Not  even  an  empty  Club,  a  dam'  bad  din- 
ner at  the  Judge's,  and  a  Station  as  sickly  as  a  hospital. 
You're  quite  right.  We're  a  set  of  Sybarites. 


128  THE   WORLD   WITHOUT 

DOONE.    Luxurious  dogs,  wallowing  in 

CURTISS.  Prickly  heat  between  the  shoulders.  I'm 
covered  with  it.  Let's  hope  Beora  will  be  cooler. 

BLAYNE.  Whew!  Are  you  ordered  into  camp,  too? 
I  thought  the  Gunners  had  a  clean  sheet. 

CURTISS.  No,  worse  luck.  Two  cases  yesterday  — 
one  died  —  and  if  we  have  a  third,  out  we  go.  Is  there 
any  shooting  at  Beora,  Doone? 

DOONE.  The  country's  under  water,  except  the  patch 
by  the  Grand  Trunk  Road.  I  was  there  yesterday, 
looking  at  a  bund,  and  came  across  four  poor  devils  in 
their  last  stage.  It's  rather  bad  from  here  to  Kuchara. 

CURTISS.  Then  we're  pretty  certain  to  have  a  heavy  go 
of  it.  Heigho!  I  shouldn't  mind  changing  places  with 
Gaddy  for  a  while.  'Sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade  of 
the  Town  Hall,  and  all  that.  Oh,  why  doesn't  somebody 
come  and  marry  me,  instead  of  lettting  me  go  into  cholera 
camp? 

MACKESY.     Ask  the  Committee. 

CURTISS.  You  ruffian!  You'll  stand  me  another 
peg  for  that.  Blayne,  what  will  you  take?  Mackesy 
is  fine  on  moral  grounds.  Doone,  have  you  any 
preference? 

DOONE.  Small  glass  Kiimmel,  please.  Excellent 
carminative,  these  days.  Anthony  told  me  so. 

MACKESY.  (Signing  voucher  for  four  drinks.)  Most 
unfair  punishment.  I  only  thought  of  Curtiss  as  Actaeon 
being  chivied  round  the  billiard  tables  by  the  nymphs  of 
Diana. 

BLAYNE.  Curtiss  would  have  to  import  his  nymphs 
by  train.  Mrs.  Cockley's  the  only  woman  in  the  Station. 
She  won't  leave  Cockley,  and  he's  doing  his  best  to  get 
her  to  go. 


THE   WORLD    WITHOUT 

CUKTISS.  Good,  indeed!  Here's  Mrs.  Cockley's 
health.  To  the  only  wife  in  the  Station  and  a  damned 
brave  woman! 

OMNES.     (Drinking.)    A  damned  brave  woman! 

BLAYNE.  I  suppose  Gaddy  will  bring  his  wife  here  at 
the  end  of  the  cold  weather.  They  are  going  to  be  married 
almost  immediately,  I  believe. 

CURTISS.  Gaddy  may  thank  his  luck  that  the  Pink 
Hussars  are  all  detachment  and  no  headquarters  this  hot 
weather,  or  he'd  be  torn  from  the  arms  of  his  love  as  sure 
as  death.  Have  you  ever  noticed  the  thorough-minded 
way  British  Cavalry  take  to  cholera?  It's  because  they 
are  so  expensive.  If  the  Pinks  had  stood  fast  here,  they 
would  have  been  out  in  camp  a  month  ago.  Yes,  I  should 
decidedly  like  t,o  be  Gaddy. 

MACKESY.  He'll  go  Home  after  he's  married,  and  send 
in  his  papers  —  see  if  he  doesn't. 

BLAYNE.  Why  shouldn't  he?  Hasn't  he  money? 
Would  any  one  of  us  be  here  if  we  weren't  paupers? 

DOONE.  Poor  old  pauper!  What  has  become  of  the 
six  hundred  you  rooked  from  our  table  last  month? 

BLAYNE.  It  took  unto  itself  wings.  I  think  an  enter- 
prising tradesman  got  some  of  it,  and  a  shroff  gobbled  the 
rest  —  or  else  I  spent  it. 

CURTISS.  Gaddy  never  had  dealings  with  a  shroff  in 
his  life. 

DOONE.  Virtuous  Gaddy !  If  /  had  three  thousand  a 
month,  paid  from  England,  I  don't  think  I'd  deal  with  a 
shroff  either. 

MACKESY.  (Yawning.)  Oh,  it's  a  sweet  life!  I 
wonder  whether  matrimony  would  make  it  sweeter. 

CURTISS.  Ask  Cockley  —  with  his  wife  dying  by 
inches ! 


130  THE   WORLD   WITHOUT 

BLAYNE.  Go  home  and  get  a  fool  of  a  girl  to  come 
out  to  —  what  is  it  Thackeray  says?  —  'the  splendid 
palace  of  an  Indian  pro-consul.' 

DOONE.  Which  reminds  me.  My  quarters  leak 
like  a  sieve.  I  had  fever  last  night  from  sleeping  in  a 
swamp.  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  one  can't  do  anything 
to  a  roof  till  the  Rains  are  over. 

CUBTISS.  What's  wrong  with  you?  You  haven't 
eighty  rotting  Tommies  to  take  into  a  running 
stream. 

DOONE.  No  :  but  I'm  mixed  boils  and  bad  lan- 
guage. I'm  a  regular  Job  all  over  my  body.  It's 
sheer  poverty  of  blood,  and  I  don't  see  any  chance  of 
getting  richer  —  either  way. 

BLAYNE.     Can't  you  take  leave  ? 

DOONE.  That's  the  pull  you  Army  men  have  over 
us.  Ten  days  are  nothing  in  your  sight.  Tm  so 
important  that  Government  can't  find  a  substitute  if 
I  go  away.  Ye  es,  I'd  like  to  be  Gaddy,  whoever  his 
wife  may  be, 

CURTISS.  You've  passed  the  turn  of  life  that  Mack- 
esy  was  speaking  of. 

DOONE.  Indeed  I  have,  but  I  never  yet  had  the 
brutality  to  ask  a  woman  to  share  my  life  out  here. 

BLAYNE.  On  my  soul  I  believe  you're  right.  I'm 
thinking  of  Mrs.  Cockley.  The  woman's  an  absolute 
wreck. 

DOONE.  Exactly.  Because  she  stays  down  here. 
The  only  way  to  keep  her  fit  would  be  to  send  her  to 
the  Hills  for  eight  months  —  and  the  same  with  any 
woman.  I  fancy  I  see  myself  taking'  a  wife  on  those 
terms. 

MACKESY.     With  the   rupee  at  one  and  sixpence. 


THE  WORLD  WITHOUT  181 

The  little  Doones  would  be  little  Dehra  Doones,  with  a 
fine  Mussoorie  chi-chi  anent  to  bring  home  for  the 
holidays. 

CURTISS.  And  a  pair  of  be-ewtiful  sawJAwr-horns 
for  Doone  to  wear,  free  of  expense,  presented,  by 

DOONE.  Yes,  it's  an  enchanting  prospect.  By  the 
way,  the  rupee  hasn't  done  falling  yet.  The  time  will 
come  when  we  shall  think  ourselves  lucky  it  we  only 
lose  half  our  pay. 

CURTISS.  Surely  a  third's  loss  enough.  Who  gains 
by  the  arrangement  ?  That's  what  I  want  to  know. 

BLAYNE.  The  Silver  Question  !  I'm  going  to  bed 
:f  you  begin  squabbling.  Thank  Goodness,  here's 
Anthony  —  looking  like  a  ghost. 

Enter    ANTHONY,   Indian    Medical   Staff,   very 
white  and  tired. 

ANTHONY.  'Evening,  Blayne.  It's  raining  in  sheets. 
Wliiskey  peg  lao,  khitmatgar.  The  roads  are  something 
ghastly. 

CURTISS.     How's  Mingle  ? 

ANTHONY.  Very  bad,  and  more  frightened.  I 
handed  him  over  to  Fewton.  Mingle  might  just  as 
well  have  called  him  in  the  first  place,  instead  of 
bothering  me. 

BLAYNE.  He's  a  nervous  little  chap.  What  has 
he  got,  this  time  ? 

ANTHONY,  'Can't  quite  say.  A  very  bad  tummy 
and  a  blue  funk  so  far.  He  asked  me  at  once  if  it  was 
cholera,  and  I  told  him  not  to  be  a  fool.  That  soothed 
him 

CURTISS.  Poor  devil !  The  funk  does  half  the 
business  in  a  man  of  that  build. 

ANTHONY,     {Lighting  a  cheroot.')     I  firmly  believe 


132  THE   WORLD   WITHOUT 

the  funk  will  kill  him  if  he  stays  down.  You  know 
the  amount  of  trouble  he's  been  giving  Fewton  for  the 
last  three  weeks.  He's  doing  his  very  best  to  frighten 
himself  into  the  grave. 

GENERAL  CHORUS.  Poor  little  devil!  Why  doesn't 
he  get  away  ? 

ANTHONY.  'Can't.  He  has  his  leave  all  right,  but 
he's  so  dipped  he  can't  take  it,  and  I  don't  think  his 
name  on  paper  would  raise  four  annas.  That's  in  con- 
fidence, though. 

MACKESY.     All  the  Station  knows  it. 

ANTHONY.  'I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  die  here,'  he 
said,  squirming  all  across  the  bed.  He's  quite  made 
up  his  mind  to  Kingdom  Come.  And  I  know  he  has 
nothing  more  than  a  wet-weather  tummy  if  he  could 
only  keep  a  hand  on  himself. 

BLAYNE.  That's  bad  That's  very  bad.  Poor  little 
Migg}r.  Good  little  chap,  too.  I  say- 

ANTHONY.     What  do  you  say? 

BLAYNE.  Well,  look  here  —  anyhow.  If  it's  like 
that  —  as  you  say  —  I  say  fifty. 

CURTISS.     I  say  fifty. 

MACKESY.     I  go  twenty  better. 

DOONE.  Bloated  Croesus  of  the  Bar  I  I  say  fifty. 
Jervoise,  what  do  you  say  ?  Hi !  Wake  up  ! 

JERYOISE.     Eh?     What's  that?     What's  that? 

CURTISS.  We  want  a  hundred  rupees  from  you. 
You're  a  bachelor  drawing  a  gigantic  income,  and 
there's  a  man  in  a  hole. 

JERVOISE.     What  man  ?     Any  one  dead  ? 

BLAYNE.  No,  but  he'll  die  if  you  don't  give  the 
hundred.  Here !  Here's  a  peg- voucher.  You  can 
see  what  we've  signed  for,  and  Anthony's  man  will 


THE   WORLD   WITHOUT  133 

come  round  to-morrow  to  collect  it.     So  there  will  be 
no  trouble. 

JERVOISB.  (Signing. )  One  hundred,  E.  M.  J. 
There  you  are  (feebly^).  It  isn't  one  of  your  jokes,  is 
it? 

BLAYNE.  No,  it  really  is  wanted.  Anthony,  you 
were  the  biggest  poker-winner  last  week,  and  you've 
defrauded  the  tax-collector  too  long.  Sign! 

ANTHONY.  Let's  see.  Three  fifties  and  a  seventy 
—  two  twenty  —  three  twenty  —  say  four  hundred  and 
twenty.  That'll  give  him  a  month  clear  at  the  Hills. 
Many  thanks,  you  men.  I'll  send  round  the  chaprassi 
to-morrow. 

GURTISS.  You  must  engineer  his  taking  the  stuff, 
and  of  course  you  mustn't 

ANTHONY.  Of  course.  It  would  never  do.  He'd 
weep  with  gratitude  over  his  evening  drink. 

BLAYNE.  That's  just  what  he  would  do,  damn  him. 
Oh !  I  say,  Anthony,  you  pretend  to  know  everything 
Have  you  heard  about  Gaddy  ? 

ANTHONY.     No.     Divorce  Court  at  last  ? 

BLAYNE.     Worse.     He's  engaged ! 

ANTHONY.     How  much?     Hecew'£be! 

BLAYNE.  He  is.  He's  going  to  be  married  in  a  few 
weeks.  Markyn  told  me  at  the  Judge's  this  evening. 
It's  pukka. 

ANTHONY.  You  don't  say  so?  Holy  Moses! 
There'l]  be  a  shine  in  the  tents  of  Kedar. 

CUBTISS.     'Regiment  cut  up  rough,  think  you? 

ANTHONY.  'Don't  know  anything  about  the  Regi- 
ment. 

MACKESY.     It  is  bigamy,  then? 

ANTHONY.     Maybe.     Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you 


134  THE   WORLD   WITHOUT 

men  have  forgotten,  or  is  there  more  charity  in  the 
world  than  I  thought  ? 

DOONE.  You  don't  look  pretty  when  you  are  trying 
to  keep  a  secret.  You  bloat.  Explain. 

ANTHONY.     Mrs.  Herriott! 

BLAYNE.  (After  a  long  pause,  to  the  room  generally.} 
It's  my  notion  that  we  are  a  set  of  fools. 

MACKESY.  Nonsense.  That  business  was  knocked 
on  the  head  last  season.  Why,  young  Mallard 

ANTHONY.  Mallard  was  a  candlestick,  paraded  as 
such.  Think  awhile.  Recollect  last  season  and  the 
talk  then.  Mallard  or  no  Mallard,  did  Gaddy  ever 
talk  to  any  other  woman? 

CURTISS.  There's  something  in  that.  It  was 
slightly  noticeable  now  you  come  to  mention  it.  But 
she's  at  Naini  Tal  and  he's  at  Simla. 

ANTHONY.  He  had  to  go  to  Simla  to  look  after  a 
globe-trotter  relative  of  his  —  a  person  with  a  title. 
Uncle  or  aunt. 

BLAYNE.  And  there  he  got  engaged.  No  law  pre- 
vents a  man  growing  tired  of  a  woman. 

ANTHONY.  Except  that  he  mustn't  do  it  till  the 
woman  is  tired  of  him.  And  the  Herriott  woman  was 
not  that. 

CURTISS.  She  may  be  now.  Two  months  of  Naini 
Tal  work  wonders. 

DOONE.  Curious  thing  how  some  women  carry  a 
Fate  with  them.  There  was  a  Mrs.  Deegie  in  the 
Central  Provinces  whose  men  invariably  fell  away  and 
got  married.  It  became  a  regular  proverb  with  us 
when  I  was  down  there.  I  remember  three  men  des- 
perately devoted  to  her,  and  they  all,  one  after  another, 
took  wives. 


THE   WORLD   WITHOUT  136 

CURTISS.  That's  odd.  Now  I  should  have  thought 
that  Mrs.  Deegie's  influence  would  have  led  them  to 
take  other  men's  wives.  It  ought  to  have  made  them 
afraid  of  the  judgment  of  Providence. 

ANTHONY.  Mrs.  Herriott  will  make  Gaddy  afraid 
of  something  more  than  the  judgment  of  Providence, 
I  fancy. 

BLAYNE.  Supposing  things  are  as  you  say,  he'll  be 
a  fool  to  face  her.  He'll  sit  tight  at  Simla. 

ANTHONY.  'Shouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  he  went 
off  to  Naini  to  explain.  He's  an  unaccountable  sort  of 
man,  and  she's  likely  to  be  a  more  than  unaccountable 
woman. 

DOONE.  What  makes  you  take  her  character  away 
so  confidently? 

ANTHONY.  Primum  tempus.  Gaddy  was  her  first, 
and  a  woman  doesn't  allow  her  first  man  to  drop  away 
without  expostulation.  She  justifies  the  first  transfer 
of  affection  to  herself  by  swearing  that  it  is  for  ever 
and  ever.  Consequently 

BLAYNE  Consequently,  we  are  sitting  here  till 
past  one  o'clock,  talking  scandal  like  a  set  of  Station 
cats.  Anthony,  it's  all  your  fault.  We  were  perfectly 
respectable  till  you  came  in.  Go  to  bed.  I'm  off. 
Good-night  all. 

CUKTLSS.  Past  one!  It's  past  two,  by  Jove,  and 
here's  the  kldt  coining  for  the  late  charge.  Just 
Heavens  !  One,  two,  three,  four,  jive  rupees  to  pay 
for  the  pleasure  of  saying  that  a  poor  little  beast  of  a 
woman  is  no  better  than  she  should  be.  I'm  ashamed 
of  myself.  Go  to  bed,  you  slanderous  villains,  and  if 
I'm  sent  to  Beora  to-morrow,  be  prepared  to  hear  I'm 
dead  before  paying  my  card  account ! 


THE   TENTS   OF   KEDAR 

Only  why  should  it  be  with  pain  at  all, 
Why  must  I  'twixt  the  leaves  of  coronal 

Put  any  kiss  of  pardon  on  thy  brow  ? 
Why  should  the  other  women  know  so  much, 
And  talk  together  :  —  Such  the  look  and  such 
The  smile  he  used  to  love  with,  then  as  now. 

Any  Wife  to  any  Husband. 

SCEISTE. — A  Naini  Tal  dinner  for  thirty-four.  Plate, 
wines,  crockery,  and  khitmatgars  carefully  calculated 
to  scale  of  Rs.  6000  per  mensem,  less  Exchange.  Table 
split  lengthways  by  bank  of  flowers. 

MRS.  HEREIOTT.  (After  conversation  has  risen  to 
proper  pitch.^  Ah!  'Didn't  see  you  in  the  crush  in 
the  drawing-room.  (Sotto  voce.}  Where  have  you 
been  all  this  while,  Pip  ? 

CAPTAIN  GADSBY.  (Turning from  regularly  ordained 
dinner  partner  and  settling  hock  glasses.}  Good  even- 
ing. (Sotto  voce.~)  Not  quite  so  loud  another  time. 
You've  no  notion  how  your  voice  carries.  (Aside.')  So 
much  for  shirking  the  written  explanation.  It'll  have 
to  be  a  verbal  one  now.  Sweet  prospect !  How  on  earth 
am  I  to  tell  her  that  I  am  a  respectable,  engaged 
member  of  society  and  it's  all  over  between  us  ? 

MRS.  H.  I've  a  heavy  score  against  you.  Where 
were  you  at  the  Monday  Pop  ?  Where  were  you  on 
Tuesday  ?  Where  were  you  at  the  Laments'  tennis  ? 
1  was  looking  everywhere. 

136 


THE   TENTS   OF   KEDAK  137 

CAPT.  G.  For  me  !  Oh,  I  was  alive  somewhere,  I 
suppose.  (Aside.}  It's  for  Minnie's  sake,  but  it's 
going  to  be  dashed  unpleasant. 

MRS.  H.  Have  I  done  anything  to  offend  you?  I 
never  meant  it  if  I  have.  I  couldn't  help  going  for  a 
ride  with  the  Vaynor  man.  It  was  promised  a  week 
before  you  came  up. 

CAPT.  G.     I  didn't  know 

MRS.  H.     It  really  was. 

CAPT.  G.     Anything  about  it,  I  mean. 

MRS.  H.  What  has  upset  you  to-day?  All  these 
days  ?  You  haven't  been  near  me  for  four  whole  days 
—  nearly  one  hundred  hours.  Was  it  kind  of  you, 
Pip  ?  And  I've  been  looking  forward  so  much  to  your 
coming. 

CAPT.  G.     Have  you? 

MRS.  H.  You  know  I  have  !  I've  been  as  foolish  as 
a  schoolgirl  about  it.  I  made  a  little  calendar  and  put 
it  in  my  card-case,  and  every  time  the  twelve  o'clock 
gun  went  off  I  scratched  out  a  square  and  said  :  '  That 
brings  me  nearer  to  Pip.  My  Pip ! ' 

CAPT.  G.  (With  an  uneasy  laugh.}  What  will 
Mackler  think  if  you  neglect  him  so  ? 

MRS.  H.  And  it  hasn't  brought  you  nearer.  You 
seem  farther  away  than  ever.  Are  you  sulking  about 
something  ?  I  know  your  temper. 

CAPT.  G.     No. 

MRS.  H.  Have  I  grown  old  in  the  last  few  months, 
then?  (Reaches  forward  to  bank  of  flowers  for  menu- 
card.  } 

PARTNER  ON  LEFT.  Allow  me.  (Hands  menu-card. 
MRS.  H.  keeps  her  arm  at  full  stretch  for  three  seconds.} 

MRS.  H.     (To  partner.}     Oh,  thanks.     I  didn't  see. 


138  THE  TENTS  OF   KEDAE 

(Turns  right  again.')     Is  anything  in  me  changed  at 
all? 

CAPT.  G,  For  Goodness'  sake  go  on  with  your 
dinner !  You  must  eat  something.  Try  one  of  those 
cutlet  arrangements.  (Aside.*)  And  I  fancied  she  had 
good  shoulders,  once  upon  a  time  !  What  an  ass  a 
man  can  make  of  himself  ! 

MRS.  H.  (Helping  herself  to  a  paper  frill,  seven  peas, 
some  stamped  carrots  and  a  spoonful  of  gravy. )  That 
isn't  an  answer.  Tell  me  whether  I  have  done  any- 
thing. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  If  it  isn't  ended  here  there  will 
be  a  ghastly  scene  somewhere  else.  If  only  I'd  written 
to  her  and  stood  the  racket—  at  long  range!  (To 
Khitmatgar.)  Han!  Simpkin  do.  (Aloud.)  I'll  tell 
you  later  on. 

MRS.  H.  Tell  me  now.  It  must  be  some  foolish 
misunderstanding,  and  you  know  that  there  was  to  be 
nothing  of  that  sort  between  us-  We,  of  all  people  in 
the  world,  can't  afford  it.  Is  it  the  Vaynor  man,  and 
don't  you  like  to  say  so  ?  On  my  honour 

CAPT.  G.    I  haven't  given  the  Va}Tnor  man  a  thought. 

MRS.  H.     But  how  d'you  know  that  I  haven't  ? 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  Here's  my  chance  and  may  the 
Devil  help  me  through  with  it.  (Aloud  and  meas- 
uredly.)  Believe  me,  1  do  not  care  how  often  or  how 
tenderly  you  think  of  the  Vaynor  man, 

MRS.  H.  I  wonder  if  you  mean  that,  —  Oh,  what  is 
the  good  of  squabbling  and  pretending  to  misunder- 
stand when  you  are  only  up  for  so  short  a  time  ?  Pip, 
don't  be  a  stupid  ! 

Follows  a  pause,  during  which  he  crosses  his  left 
leg  over  his  right  and  continues  his  dinner. 


THE   TENTS  OF  KEDAR  139 

CAPT.  G.  (In  answer  to  the  thunderstorm  in  her 
eyes.)  Corns — my  worst. 

MBS.  H.  Upon  my  word,  you  are  the  very  rudest 
man  in  the  world !  I'll  never  do  it  again. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  No,  I  don't  think  you  will; 
but  I  wonder  what  you  will  do  before  it's  all  over. 
(To  Khitmatgar.)  T}iorah  ur  Simplcin  do. 

MRS.  H.  Well !  Haven't  you  the  grace  to  apolo- 
gise, bad  man  ? 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside. )  I  mustn't  let  it  drift  back  now. 
Trust  a  woman  for  being  as  blind  as  a  bat  when  she 
won't  see. 

MRS.  H.  I'm  waiting  t  or  would  you  like  me  to 
dictate  a  form  of  apology? 

CAPT.  G.     (Desperately.)     By  all  means  dictate. 

MRS.  H.  (Lightly.)  Very  well.  Rehearse  your 
several  Christian  names  after  me  and  go  on :  *  Profess 
my  sincere  repentance. 

CAPT.  G.     'Sincere  repentance.' 

MRS.  H.     '  For  having  behaved ' 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  At  last !  I  wish  to  Goodness 
she'd  look  away.  'For  having  behaved'  —  as  I  have 
behaved,  and  declare  that  I  am  thoroughly  and  heartily 
sick  of  the  whole  business,  and  take  this  opportunity 
of  making  clear  my  intention  of  ending  it,  now,  hence- 
forward, and  for  ever.  (Aside.)  If  any  one  had  told 
me  I  should  be  such  a  blackguard ! 

MRS.  H.  (Shaking  a  spoonful  of  potato  chips  into 
her  plate.)  That's  not  a  pretty  joke. 

CAPT.  G,  No.  It's  a  reality.  (Aside.)  I  wonder 
if  smashes  of  this  kind  are  alwaj's  so  raw. 

MRS.  H.  Really,  Pip,  you're  getting  more  absurd 
every  day. 


140  THE  TENTS  OF  KEDAB 

CAPT.  G.  I  don't  think  you  quite  understand  me- 
Shall  I  repeat  it  ? 

MBS.  H.  No  !  For  pity's  sake  don't  do  that.  It's 
too  terrible,  even  in  fun. 

CAPT.  G.  I'll  let  her  think  it  over  for  a  while 
But  I  ought  to  be  horse-whipped. 

MRS.  H.  I  want  to  know  what  you  meant  by  what 
you  said  just  now. 

CAPT.  G.     Exactly  what  I  said.     No  less. 

MRS.  H.  But  what  have  I  done  to  deserve  it? 
What  have  I  done  ? 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside. )  If  she  only  wouldn't  look  at 
me.  (Aloud  and  very  slowly,  his  eyes  on  his  plate  ) 
D'you  remember  that  evening  in  July,  before  the  Rains 
broke,  when  you  said  that  the  end  would  have  to  come 
sooner  or  later  — -  and  you  wondered  for  which  of  us  it 
would  come  first  ? 

MRS.  H.  Yes !  I  was  only  joking.  And  you 
swore  that,  as  long  as  there  was  breath  in  your  body,  it 
should  never  come.  And  I  believed  you. 

CAPT.  G.  (Fingering  menu-card.*)  Well,  it  has. 
That's  all. 

A  long  pause,  during  which  MKS.  H.  bows  her 
head  and  rolls  the  bread-tivist  into  little  pellets: 
G.  stares  at  the  oleanders. 

MRS.  H.  (Throwing  back  her  head  and  laughing 
naturally. )  They  train  us  women  well,  don't  they,  Pip? 

CAPT.  G.  (Brutally,  touching  shirt-stud.}  So  far 
as  the  expression  goes.  (Aside.}  It  isn't  in  her 
nature  to  take  things  quietly.  There'll  be  an  explosion 
yet. 

MRS.  H.  (With  a  shudder.}  Thank  you.  B-but 
even  Red  Indians  allow  people  to  wriggle  when  they're 


THE  TENTS  OF  KEDAR  141 

being  tortured,  I  believe.  (Slips  fan  from  girdle  and 
fans  slotuly :  rim  of  fan  level  with  chin. ) 

PARTNER  ON  LEFT.  Very  close  to-night,  isn't  it? 
'You  find  it  too  much  for  you? 

MRS.  H.  Oh,  no,  not  in  the  least.  But  they  really 
ought  to  have  punkahs,  even  in  your  cool  Nairn  Tal, 
oughtn't  they  ?  ( Turns,  dropping  fan  and  raising  eye- 
broivs. ) 

CAPT.  G.  It's  all  right.  (Aside.')  Here  comas  the 
storm  I 

MRS  H.  (Her  eyes  on  the  tablecloth  :  fan  ready  in 
right  hand.)  It  was  very  cleverly  managed,  Pip,  and 
I  congratulate  you.  You  swore  —  you  never  contented 
yourself  with  merely  saying  a  thing  —  you  swore  that, 
as  far  as  lay  in  your  power,  you'd  make  my  wretched 
life  pleasant  for  me.  And  you've  denied  me  the  con- 
solation of  breaking  down,  I  should  have  done  it  — 
indeed  I  should.  A  woman  would  hardly  have  thought 
of  this  refinement,  my  kind,  considerate  friend.  (Fan- 
guard  as  before.')  You  have  explained  things  so  ten- 
derly and  truthfully,  too  !  You  haven't  spoken  or 
written  a  word  of  warning,  and  you  have  let  me  believe 
in  you  till  the  last  minute.  You  haven't  condescended 
to  give  me  your  reason  yet.  No  !  A  woman  could 
not  have  managed  it  half  so  well.  Are  there  many 
men  like  you  in  the  world  ? 

CAPT.  G,  I'm  sure  1  don't  know.  (To  Khitmatgar.) 
Ohe  I  Simpkin  do. 

MRS.  H.  You  call  yourself  a  man  of  the  world, 
don't  you  ?  Do  men  of  the  world  behave  like  Devils 
when  they  do  a  woman  the  honour  to  get  tired  of  her? 

CAPT.  G.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  Don't  speak  so 
loud  I 


142  THE   TENTS   OF  KEDAR 

MRS.  H.  Keep  us  respectable,  O  Lord,  whatever 
happens  !  Don't  be  afraid  of  my  compromising  you. 
You've  chosen  your  ground  far  too  well,  and  I've 
been  properly  brought  up.  (Lowering  /aw.)  Haven't 
you  any  pity,  Pip,  except  for  yourself? 

CAPT.  G.  Wouldn't  it  be  rather  impertinent  of  me 
to  say  that  I'm  sorry  for  you  ? 

MRS.  H.  I  think  you  have  said  it  once  or  twice  be- 
fore. You're  growing  very  careful  of  my  feelings.  My 
God,  Pip,  I  was  a  good  woman  once  !  You  said  I  was. 
You've  made  me  what  I  am.  What  are  you  going  to 
do  with  me  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ? 
Won't  you  say  that  you  are  sorry  ?  {Helps  herself  to 
iced  asparagus.} 

CAPT.  G.  I  am  sorry  for  you,  if  you  want  the  pity 
of  such  a  brute  as  I  am.  I'm  aivfly  sorry  for  you. 

MRS.  H.  Rather  tame  for  a  man  of  the  world.  Do 
you  think  that  that  admission  clears  you  ? 

CAPT.  G.  What  can  I  do  ?  I  can  only  tell  you 
what  I  think  of  myself.  You  can't  think  worse  than 
that? 

MRS.  H.  Oh,  yes,  I  can  !  And  now,  will  you  tell 
me  the  reason  of  all  this  ?  Remorse  ?  Has  Bayard 
been  suddenly  conscience-stricken? 

CAPT.  G.  (Angrily,  his  eyes  still  lowered. )  No  !  The 
thing  has  come  to  an  end  on  my  side.  That's  all. 
Majuch  ! 

MRS.  H.  'That's  all.  Mafisch!'  As  though  I  were 
a  Cairene  Dragoman.  You  used  to  make  prettier 
speeches.  D'you  remember  when  you  said ? 

CAPT.  G.  For  Heaven's  sake  don't  bring  that  back  ! 
Call  me  anything  you  like  and  I'll  admit  it 

MRS.  H.     But  you  don't  care  to  be  reminded  of  old 


THE  TENTS  OF  KEDAR  143 

lies  ?  If  I  could  hope  to  hurt  you  one-tenth  as  much 
as  you  have  hurt  me  to-night  —  No,  I  wouldn't  —  I 
couldn't  do  it  —  liar  though  you  are. 

CAPT.  G.     I've  spoken  the  truth. 

MRS.  H.  My  dear  Sir,  you  flatter  yourself.  You 
have  lied  over  the  reason.  Pip,  remember  that  I  know 
you  as  you  don't  know  yourself.  You  have  been  every- 
thing to  me,  though  you  are —  (Fan-guard.)  Oh,  what 
a  contemptible  Thing  it  is  !  And  so  you  are  merely 
tired  of  me  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Since  you  insist  upon  my  repeating  it 
—  Yes. 

MRS.  H.  Lie  the  first.  I  wish  I  knew  a  coarser 
word.  Lie  seems  so  ineffectual  in  your  case.  The  fire 
has  just  died  out  and  there  is  no  fresh  one  ?  Think 
for  a  minute,  Pip,  if  you  care  whether  I  despise  you 
more  than  I  do.  Simply  Mafisch,  is  it  ? 

CAPT.  G.     Yes.     (Aside.)     I  think  I  deserve  this. 

MRS.  H.  Lie  number  two.  Before  the  next  glass 
chokes  you,  tell  me  her  name. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  I'll  make  her  pay  for  dragging 
Minnie  into  the  business  !  (Aloud.)  Is  it  likely  ? 

MRS.  H.  Very  likely  if  you  thought  that  it  would 
flatter  your  vanity.  You'd  cry  my  name  on  the  house- 
tops to  make  people  turn  round. 

CAPT.  G.  I  wish  I  had.  There  would  have  been  an 
end  of  this  business. 

MRS.  H.  Oh,  no,  there  would  not  —  And  so  you 
were  going  to  be  virtuous  and  blasg,  were  you?  To 
come  to  me  and  say  :  '  I've  done  with  you.  The  inci- 
dent is  clo-osed.'  I  ought  to  be  proud  of  having  kept 
such  a  man  so  long. 

CAPT.  G.     (Aside.)     It  only  remains  to  pray  for  the 


144  THE  TENTS  OF  KEDAR 

end  of  the  dinner.  (Aloud.')  You  know  what  I  think 
of  myself. 

MRS.  H.  As  it's  the  only  person  in  the  world  you 
ever  do  think  of,  and  as  I  know  your  mind  thoroughly, 

I  do.  You  want  to  get  it  all  over  and Oh,  I 

can't  keep  you  back  !  Arid  you're  going  —  think  of  it. 
Pip  —  to  throw  me  over  for  another  woman.  And  you 

swore  that  all  other  women  were Pip,  my  Pip  ! 

She  can't  care  for  you  as  I  do.  Believe  me,  she  can't  I 
Is  it  any  one  that  I  know  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Thank  Goodness  it  isn't.  (Aside. )  I 
expected  a  cyclone,  but  not  an  earthquake. 

MRS.  H.  She  can't!  Is  there  anything  that  I 
wouldn't  do  for  you  —  or  haven't  done '(  And  to  think 
that  I  should  take  this  trouble  over  you,  knowing  what 
you  are  !  Do  you  despise  me  for  it  ? 

CAPT.  G.  (Wiping  his  mouth  to  hide  a  smile.') 
Again?  It's  entirely  a  work  of  charity  on  your 
part. 

MRS.  H.  Ahhh  !  But  I  have  no  right  to  resent  it. 
—  Is  she  better-looking  than  I  ?  Who  was  it  said ? 

CAPT.  G.     No  —  not  that ! 

MRS.  H.  I'll  be  more  merciful  than  you  were. 
Don't  you  know  that  all  women  are  alike? 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  Then  this  is  the  exception 
that  proves  the  rule. 

MRS.  H.  All  of  them !  I'll  tell  you  anything  you 
like.  I  will,  upon  my  word  !  They  only  want  the 
admiration  —  from  anybody  —  no  matter  who  —  any- 
body !  But  there  is  always  one  man  that  they  care  for 
more  than  any  one  else  in  the  world,  and  would  sacri- 
fice all  the  others  to.  Oh,  do  listen!  I've  kept  the 
Vaynor  man  trotting  after  me  like  a  poodle,  and  he 


THE  TENTS   OF  KEDAR  145 

believes  that  he  is  the  only  man  I  am  interested  in. 
I'll  tell  you  what  he  said  to  me. 

CAPT.  G.  Spare  him.  (Aside.)  I  wonder  what 
his  version  is. 

MRS.  H.  He's  been  waiting  for  me  to  look  at  him 
all  through  dinner.  Shall  I  do  it,  and  you  can  see 
what  an  idiot  he  looks  ? 

CAPT.  G.  '  But  what  imports  the  nomination  of 
this  gentleman  ? ' 

MRS.  H.  Watch  ;  (Sends  a  glance  to  the  Vaynor 
man,  wlio  tries  vainly  to  combine  a  mouthful  of  ice  pud- 
ding, a  smirk  of  self-satisfaction,  a  glare  of  intense  devo- 
tion, and  the  stolidity  of  a  British  dining  countenance.) 

CAPT.  G.  (Critically.)  He  doesn't  look  pretty. 
Why  didn't  you  wait  till  the  spoon  was  out  of  his 
mouth  ? 

MRS.  H.  To  amuse  you.  She'll  make  an  exhibi- 
tion of  you  as  I've  made  of  him ;  and  people  will 
laugh  at  you.  Oh,  Pip,  can't  you  see  that?  It's  as 
plain  as  the  noonday  sun.  You'll  be  trotted  about 
and  told  lies,  and  made  a  fool  of  like  the  others.  / 
never  made  a  fool  of  you,  did  I  ? 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  What  a  clever  little  woman  it 
is! 

MRS.  H.     Well,  what  have  you  to  say  ? 

CAPT.  G.     I  feel  better. 

MRS.  II.  Yes,  I  suppose  so,  after  I  have  come  down 
to  your  level.  I  couldn't  have  done  it  if  I  hadn't 
cared  for  you  so  much.  I  have  spoken  the  truth. 

CAPT.  G.     It  doesn't  alter  the  situation. 

MRS.  H.  (Passionately.)  Then  she  has  said  that 
she  cares  for  you  !  Don't  believe  her,  Pip.  It's  a  lie 
—  as  bad  as  yours  to  me ! 


146  THE   TENTS   OF   KEDAK 

CAPT.  G.  Ssssteady!  I've  a  notion  that  a  friend 
of  yours  is  looking  at  you. 

MRS.  H.  He  !  I  hate  him.  He  introduced  you  to 
me. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.*)  And  some  people  would  like 
women  to  assist  in  making  the  laws.  Introduction  to 
imply  condonement.  (Aloud.)  Well,  you  see,  if  you 
can  remember  so  far  back  as  that,  I  couldn't,  in  com- 
mon politeness,  refuse  the  offer. 

MRS.  H.  In  common  politeness  I  We  have  got 
beyond  that! 

CAPTe  G.  (Aside.)  Old  ground  means  fresh  trouble, 
(Aloud. )  On  my  honour 

MRS.  H.     Your  what?    Ha,  ha! 

CAPT.  G.  Dishonour,  then.  She's  not  what  you 
imagine.  I  meant  to 

MRS.  H.  Don't  tell  me  anything  about  her !  She 
wont  care  for  you,  and  when  you  come  back,  after  hav- 
ing made  an  exhibition  of  yourself,  you'll  find  me  occu- 
pied with 

CAPT.  G.  (Insolently,')  You  couldn't  while  I  am 
alive.  (Aside.)  If  that  doesn't  bring  her  pride  to 
her  rescue,  nothing  will. 

MRS.  H.  (Drawing  herself  up.)  Couldn't  do  it? 
1?  (Softening.)  You're  right.  I  don't  believe  I  couid 
—  though  you  are  what  you  are  —  a  coward  and  a  liar 
in  grain. 

CAPT.  G.  It  doesn't  hurt  so  much  after  your  little 
lecture  —  with  demonstrations. 

MRS.  H.  One  mass  of  vanity!  Will  nothing  ever 
touch  you  in  this  life  ?  There  must  be  a  Hereafter  if 

it's  only  for  the  benefit  of But  you  will  have  it 

all  to  yourself. 


THE  TENTS  OF  KEDAR  147 

CAPT.  G.    (Under  his  eyebrows.')    Are  you  so  certain 

of  that  ? 

MES.  H.  I  shall  have  had  mine  in  this  life  ;  and  it 
will  serve  me  right. 

CAPT.  G.  But  the  admiration  that  you  insisted  on 
so  strongly  a  moment  ago?  (Aside.)  Oh,  I  am  a 
brute  ! 

MRS.  H.  (Fiercely.)  Will  that  console  me  for 
knowing  that  you  will  go  to  her  with  the  same  words, 
the  same  arguments,  and  the  —  the  same  pet  names  you 
used  to  me  ?  And  if  she  cares  for  you,  you  two  will 
laugh  over  my  story.  Won't  that  be  punishment  heavy 
enough  even  for  me  —  even  for  me  ?  —  And  it's  all  use- 
less. That's  another  punishment. 

CAPT.  G.  (Feebly.^)  Oh,  come!  I'm  not  so  low  as 
you  think. 

Mus.  H  Not  now,  perhaps,  but  you  will  be.  Oh, 
Pip,  if  a  woman  flatters  your  vanity,  there's  nothing 
on  earth  that  you  would  not  tell  her  ;  and  no  meanness 
that  you  would  not  do.  Have  I  known  you  so  long 
without  knowing  that  ? 

CAPT,  G,  If  you  can  trust  me  in  nothing  else  — 
and  I  don't  see  why  I  should  be  trusted  —  you  can 
count  upon  my  holding  my  tongue. 

AIns.  II.  If  you  denied  everything  you've  said  this 
evening  a,ud  declared  it  was  all  in  fun  (a  long  pause), 
I'd  trust  you.  Not  otherwise.  All  I  ask  is,  don't  tell 
her  my  name  Please  don't.  A  man  might  forget .  a 
woman  never  would.  (Looks  up  table  and  sees  hostess 
beginning  to  collect  eyes.)  So  it's  all  ended,  through 
no  fault  of  mine —  Haven't  I  behaved  beautifully'/ 
J've  accepted  your  dismissal,  and  you  managed  it  as 
cruelly  as  you  could,  and  I  have  made  you  respect  my 


148  THE  TENTS  OP  KEDAR 

sex,  haven't  I?  (Arranging  gloves  and  fan.')  I  only 
pray  that  she'll  know  you  some  day  as  I  know  you 
now.  I  wouldn't  be  you  then,  for  I  think  even  your 
conceit  will  be  hurt.  I  hope  she'll  pay  you  back  the 
humiliation  you've  brought  on  me.  I  hope  —  No.  I 
don't.  I  can't  give  you  up  !  I  must  have  something 
to  look  forward  to  or  I  shall  go  crazy.  When  it's  all 
over,  come  back  to  me,  come  back  to  me,  and  you'll 
find  that  you're  my  Pip  still ! 

CAPT.  G.  ( Very  clearly  )  'False  move,  and  you 
pay  for  it.  It's  a  girl ! 

MRS.  H.     (Rising.)     Then  it  was  true !      They  said 

but  I  wouldn't  insult  you  by  asking.     A  girl !     I 

was  a  girl  not  very  long  ago.  Be  good  to  her,  Pip.  I 
daresay  she  believes  in  you, 

Croes  out  with  an  uncertain  smile  He  watches 
her  through  the  door,  and  settles  into  a  chair 
as  the  men  redistribute  themselves. 

CAPT.  G.  Now,  if  there  is  any  Power  who  looks 
after  this  world,  will  He  kindly  tell  me  what  I  have 
done  ?  (Reaching  out  for  the  claret,  and  half  aloud.) 
What  have  I  done  ? 


WITH  ANY  AMAZEMENT 

And  are  not  afraid  with  any  amazement. —  Marriage  Service. 

SCENE. —  A  bachelor's  bedroom  —  toilet-table  arranged 
with  unnatural  neatness.  CAPTAIN  GADSBY  asleep 
and  snoring  heavily.  Time,  10.30  A.M.  —  a  glori- 
ous autumn  day  at  Simlu.  Enter  delicately  CAPTAIN 
MAFFLIM  of  GADSBY'S  regiment.  Looks  at  sleeper, 
and  shakes  his  head  murmuring  '  Poor  G-addy?  Per- 
forms  violent  fantasia  with  hair-brushes  on  chair-back. 

CAPT.  M.     Wake  up,  my  sleeping  beauty !  (.Boar*.) 

'  Uprouse  ye,  then,  my  merry  merry  men ! 
It  is  our  opening  day ! 
It  is  our  opening  da-ay ! ' 

Gaddy,  the  little  dicky-birds  have  been  billing  and 
cooing  for  ever  so  long ;  and  Tm  here  ! 

CAPT.  G.  (Sitting  up  and  yawning.^  'Mornin'. 
This  is  awf'ly  good  of  you,  old  fellow.  Most  awf ly 
good  of  you.  'Don't  know  what  I  should  do  without 
you.  Ton  my  soul,  I  don't.  'Haven't  slept  a  wink  all 
night. 

CAPT.  M.  I  didn't  get  in  till  half-past  eleven. 
'Had  a  look  at  you  then,  and  you  seemed  to  be  sleeping 
as  soundly  as  a  condemned  criminal. 

CAPT.  G.  Jack,  if  you  want  to  make  those  disgust- 
ingly worn-out  jokes,  you'd  better  go  away.  (  With  por- 
tentous gravity .}  It's  the  happiest  day  in  my  life. 

149 


160  WITH  ANY  AMAZEMENT 

CAPT.  M.  (  Chuckling  grimly?)  Not  by  a  very  long 
chalk,  my  son.  You're  going  through,  some  of  the 
most  refined  torture  you've  ever  known.  But  be  calm. 
1  am  with  you.  'Shun !  Dress  ! 

CAPT.  G.    Eh!    Wha-at? 

CAPT.  M.  Do  you  suppose  that  you  are  your  own 
master  for  the  next  twelve  hours?  If  you  do,  of 
course (Makes for  the  door.") 

CAPT.  G.  No  1  For  Goodness7  sake,  old  man,  don't 
do  that!  You'll  see  me  through,  won't  you?  I've 
been  mugging  up  that  beastly  drill,  and  can't  remember 
a  line  of  it. 

CAPT.  M.    (  Overhauling  G«  's  uniform?)    Go  and  tub. 
Don't  bother  me.     I'll  give  you  ten  minutes  to  dress  in. 
Interval,  filled  by  the  noise  as  of  one  splashing  in 
the  bath-room. 

CAPT.  G.  (Emerging  from  dressing-room.')  What 
time  is  it? 

CAPT.  M.     Nearly  eleven. 

CAPT.  G.     Five  hours  more.     O  Lord ! 

CAPT.  M.  (Aside.}  'First  sign  of  funk,  that.  'Won- 
der if  it's  going  to  spread.  (Aloud.}  Come  along  to 
breakfast. 

CAPT.  G.  I  can't  eat  anything.  I  don't  want  any 
breakfast. 

CAPT.  M.  (Aside.}  So  early !  (Aloud.}  Captain 
Gadsby,  I  order  you  to  eat  breakfast,  and  a  dashed  good 
breakfast,  too.  None  of  your  bridal  airs  and  graces 
with  me ! 

Leads  G.  downstairs,  and  stands  over  him  while 
he  eats  two  chops. 

CAPT.  G.  (Who  has  looked  at  his  watch  thrice  in  the 
last  five  minutes.}  What  time  is  it  ? 


WITH   ANY   AMAZEMENT  151 

CAPT.  M.     Time  to  come  for  a  walk.     Light  up. 

CAPT.  G.  I  haven't  smoked  for  ten  days,  and  I  won't 
now.  {Takes  cheroot  which  M.  has  cut  for  him,  and  Hows 
smoke  through  his  nose  luxuriously.)  We  aren't  going 
down  the  Mall,  are  we? 

CAPT.  M.  (Aside?)  They're  all  alike  in  these  stages. 
(Aloud.)  No,  my  Vestal.  We're  going  along  the 
quietest  road  we  can  find. 

CAPT.  G.    Any  chance  of  seeing  Her  ? 

CAPT.  M.  Innocent !  No !  Come  along,  and,  if  you 
want  me  for  the  final  obsequies,  don't  cut  my  eye  out 
with  your  stick. 

CAPT.  G.  (Spinning  round.)  I  say,  isn't  She  the 
dearest  creature  that  ever  walked  ?  What's  the  time  ? 
What  comes  after  '  wilt  thou  take  this  woman  '  ? 

CAPT.  M.  You  go  for  the  ring.  R'clect  it'll  be  on 
the  top  of  my  right-hand  little  finger,  and  just  be  care- 
ful how  you  draw  it  off,  because  I  shall  have  the 
Verger's  fees  somewhere  in  my  glove. 

CAPT.  G.  (Walking  forward  hastily.)  D the 

Verger !  Come  along  I  It's  past  twelve  and  I  haven't 
seen  Her  since  yesterday  evening.  (Spinning  round 
again.)  She's  an  absolute  angel,  Jack,  and  She's  a 
dashed  deal  too  good  for  me.  Look  here,  does  She 
come  up  the  aisle  on  my  arm,  or  how  ? 

CAPT.  M.  If  I  thought  that  there  was  the  least 
chance  of  your  remembering  anything  for  two  consecu- 
tive minutes,  I'd  tell  you.  Stop  passaging  about  like 
that! 

CAPT.  G.  (Halting  in  the  middle  of  the  road.)  I 
say,  Jack. 

CAPT.  M.  Keep  quiet  for  another  ten  minutes  if  you 
can,  you  lunatic ;  and  walk! 


WTJL'if  AJNX 

Tlie    two  tramp  at  five  miles  an  hour  for  fifteen 
minutes. 

CAPT.  G.  What's  the  time?  How  about  that  cursed 
wedding-cake  and  the  slippers  ?  They  don't  throw  'em 
about  in  church,  do  they  ? 

CAPT.  M.  In-variably.  The  Padre  leads  off  with 
his  boots. 

CAPT.  G.  Confound  your  silly  soul !'  Don't  make 
fun  of  me.  I  can't  stand  it,  and  I  won't ! 

CAPT.  M.  (  Untroubled.}  So-ooo,  old  horse  I  You'll 
have  to  sleep  for  a  couple  of  hours  this  afternoon. 

CAPT.  G.  (Spinning  round.~)  I'm  not  going  to  be 
treated  like  a  dashed  child.  Understand  that  I 

CAPT.  M.  (Aside.')  Nerves  gone  to  fiddle-strings. 
What  a  day  we're  having!  (Tenderly  putting  his  hand 
on  G.'s  shoulder.*)  My  David,  how  long  have  you  known 
this  Jonathan?  Would  I  come  up  here  to  make  a  fool 
of  you  —  after  all  these  years  ? 

CAPT.  G.     (Penitently.')     I  know,  I  know,   Jack  — 
but  I'm  as  upset  as  I  can  be.     Don't  mind  what  I  say. 
Just  hear  me  run  through  the  drill  and  see  if  I've  got 
it  all  right :  — 

'  To  have  and  to  hold  for  better  or  worse,  as  it  was  in 
the  beginning,  is  now,  and  ever  shall  be,  world  without 
end,  so  help  me  God.  Amen/ 

CAPT.  M.  (Suffocating  with  suppressed  laughter.} 
Yes.  That's  about  the  gist  of  it.  I'll  prompt  if  you 
get  into  a  hat. 

CAPT.  G.  (Earnestly.'}  Yes,  you'll  stick  by  me,  Jack, 
won't  you  ?  I'm  awf 'ly  happy,  but  I  don't  mind  telling 
you  that  I'm  in  a  blue  funk ! 

CAPT.  M.  (Gravely.}  Are  you?  I  should  never 
have  noticed  it.  You  don't  look  like  it. 


WITH   ANY   AMAZEMENT  153 

CAPT.  G.  Don't  I?  That's  all  right.  (Spinning 
round.}  On  my  soul  and  honour,  Jack,  She's  the  sweetest 
little  angel  that  ever  came  down  from  the  sky.  There 
isn't  a  woman  on  earth  fit  to  speak  to  Her. 

CAPT.  M.  ( Aside.}  And  this  is  old  Gaddy !  ( Aloud.} 
Go  on  if  it  relieves  you. 

CAPT.  G.  You  can  laugh !  That's  all  you  wild  asses 
of  bachelors  are  fit  for. 

CAPT.  M.  (Drawling.}  You  never  would  wait  for 
the  troop  to  come  up.  You  aren't  quite  married  yet, 
y'know. 

CAPT.  G.  Ugh !  That  reminds  me.  I  don't  believe 
1  shall  be  able  to  get  into  my  boots.  Let's  go  home 
and  try  'em  on  !  (Hurries  forward.} 

CAPT.  M.  'Wouldn't  be  in  your  shoes  for  anything 
that  Asia  has  to  offer. 

CAPT.  G.  (Spinning  round.}  That  just  shows  your 
hideous  blackness  of  soul  —  your  dense  stupidity  — 
your  brutal  narrow-mindedness.  There's  only  one  fault 
about  you.  You're  the  best  of  good  fellows,  and  I 
don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without  you,  but 
—  you  aren't  married.  (  Wags  his  head  gravely.}  Take 
a  wife,  Jack. 

CAPT.  M.  (  With  a  face  like  a  wall.}  Ya-as.  Whose 
for  choice  ? 

CAPT.  G.  If  you're  going  to  be  a  blackguard,  I'm 
going  on  —  What's  the  time  ? 

CAPT.  M.     (Hums.}  — 

'  An'  since  'twas  very  clear  we  drank  only  ginger-beer, 
Faith,  there  must  ha'  been  some  stingo  in  the  ginger.' 

Come  back,  you  maniac.  I'm  going  to  take  you 
home,  and  you're  going  to  lie  down. 


164  WITH  ANY  AMAZEMENT 

CAPT.  G.  What  on  earth  do  I  want  to  lie  down 
for? 

CAPT.  M.  Give  me  a  light  from  your  cheroot  and 
see. 

CAPT.  G.  (  Watching  cheroot-butt  quiver  like  a  tuning- 
fork.*)  Sweet  state  I'm  in  ! 

CAPT.  M.  You  are.  I'll  get  you  a  peg  and  you'll  go 
to  sleep. 

They  return  and  M.  compounds  a  four-finger  peg. 

CAPT.  G.  O  bus !  bus  !  It'll  make  me  as  drunk  as 
an  owl. 

CAPT.  M.  'Curious  thing,  'twon't  have  the  slightest 
effect  on  you.  Drink  it  off,  chuck  yourself  down  there, 
and  go  to  bye-bye. 

CAPT.  G.  It's  absurd.  I  shan't  sleep.  I  know  I 
shan't ! 

Falls  into  heavy  doze  at  end  of  seven  minutes. 
CAPT.  M.  watches  him  tenderly. 

CAPT.  M.  Poor  old  Gaddy !  I've  seen  a  few  turned 
off  before,  but  never  one  who  went  to  the  gallows  in 
this  condition.  'Can't  tell  how  it  affects  'em,  though. 
It's  the  thoroughbreds  that  sweat  when  they're  backed 
into  double-harness.  —  And  that's  the  man  who  went 
through  the  guns  at  Amdherau  like  a  devil  possessed 
of  devils.  (Leans  over  G.)  But  this  is  worse  than  the 
guns,  old  pal  — worse  than  the  guns,  isn't  it?  (G.  turns 
in  his  sleep,  and  M.  touches  him  clumsily  on  the  fore- 
head.*) Poor,  dear  old  Gaddy !  Going  like  the  rest  of 
'em  —  going  like  the  rest  of  'em  —  Friend  that  sticketh 
closer  than  a  brother  —  eight  years.  Dashed  bit  of  a 
slip  of  a  girl  —  eight  weeks !  And  —  where's  your 
friend  ?  (jSmoke  *  disconsolately  till  church  clock  strikes 
three.*) 


WITH  ANY  AMAZEMENT  155 

CAPT.  M.     Up  with  you !     Get  into  your  kit. 

CAPT.  G.  Already?  Isn't  it  too  soon?  Hadn't  I 
better  have  a  shave? 

CAPT.  M.  No!  You're  all  right.  (Aside.)  He'd 
chip  his  chin  to  pieces. 

CAPT.  G.     What's  the  hurry  ? 

CAPT.  M.     You've  got  to  be  there  first. 

CAPT.  G.     To  be  stared  at? 

CAPT.  M.  Exactly.  You're  part  of  the  show. 
Where's  the  burnisher  ?  Your  spurs  are  in  a  shameful 
state. 

CAPT.  G.  (Gruffly. ,)  Jack,  I  be  damned  if  you 
shall  do  that  for  me. 

CAPT.  M.  (More  gruffly.*)  Dry  up  and  get  dressed  \ 
If  I  choose  to  clean  your  spurs,  you're  under  my  orders. 
CAPT.  G.  dresses.  M..  follows  suit. 

CAPT.  M.  (Critically,  walking  round.)  M'yes,  you'll 
do.  Only  don't  look  so  like  a  criminal.  Ring,  gloves, 
fees  —  that's  all  right  for  me.  Let  your  moustache 
alone.  Now,  if  the  ponies  are  ready,  we'll  go. 

CAPT.  G.  (Nervously.)  It's  much  too  soon.  Let's 
light  up !  Let's  have  a  peg !  Let's 

CAPT.  M.     Let's  make  bally  asses  of  ourselves ! 

BELLS.     (  Without.*)  — 

'  Good  —  peo  —  pie  —  all 
To  prayers  —  we  call.' 

CAPT.  M.     There  go  the  bells!     Come  on  —  unless 
you'd  rather  not.     (They  ride  off.*). 
BELLS. — 

'We  honour  the  King 
And  Brides  joy  do  bring  — 
Good  tidings  we  tell, 
And  ring  the  Dead's  knell.' 


156  WITH  ANY  AMAZEMENT 

CAPT.  G.  (Dismounting  at  the  door  of  the  Church.") 
I  say,  aren't  we  much  too  soon  ?  There  are  no  end  of 
people  inside.  I  say,  aren't  we  much  too  late?  Stick 
by  me,  Jack !  What  the  devil  do  I  do  ? 

CAPT.  M.  Strike  an  attitude  at  the  head  of  the  aisle 
and  wait  for  Her.  (G.  groans  as  M.  wheels  him  into 
position  before  three  hundred  eyes.) 

CAPT.  M.  (Imploringly.)  Gaddy,  if  you  love  me, 
for  pity's  sake,  for  the  Honour  of  the  Regiment,  stand 
up !  Chuck  yourself  into  your  uniform !  Look  like  a 
man !  I've  got  to  speak  to  the  Padre  a  minute.  (G. 
breaks  into  a  gentle  perspiration.)  If  you  wipe  your 
face  I'll  never  be  your  best  man  again.  Stand  up! 
(G.  trembles  visibly.*) 

CAPT.  M.  (Returning.')  She's  coming  now.  Look 
out  when  the  music  starts.  There's  the  organ  begin- 
ning to  clack. 

Bride  steps  out  of  'rickshaw  at   Church  door.     G. 
catches  a  glimpse  of  her  and  takes  heart. 

ORGAN.  — 

*  The  Voice  that  breathed  o'er  Eden, 

That  earliest  marriage  day, 
The  primal  marriage-blessing, 
It  hath  not  passed  away.' 

CAPT.  M.  (Watching  G.)  By  Jove !  He  is  looking 
well.  'Didn't  think  he  had  it  in  him. 

CAPT.  G.     How  long  does  this  hymn  go  on  for  ? 

CAPT.  M.  It  will  be  over  directly.  (Anxiously.) 
Beginning  to  bleach  and  gulp?  Hold  on,  Gaddy,  and 
think  o'  the  Regiment. 

CAPT.  G.  (Measuredly.)  I  say,  there's  a  big  brown 
lizard  crawling  up  that  wall. 


WITH  ANY   AMAZEMENT  157 

CAPT.  M.  My  Sainted  Mother!  The  last  stage  of 
collapse ! 

Bride  comes  up  to  left  of  altar,  lifts  her  eyes  once 

to  G.,  who  is  suddenly  smitten  mad. 
CAPT.  G.     (To   himself  again    and    again?)     Little 
Featherweight's  a  woman  —  a  woman !     And  I  thought 
she  was  a  little  girl. 

CAPT.  M.  (In  a  whisper, .)  Form  the  halt  —  inward 
wheel. 

CAPT.  G.  obeys   mechanically  and  the  ceremony 

proceeds. 

PADRE.  .  .  .  only  unto  her  as  long  as  ye  both  shall 
live? 

CAPT.  G.     (His  throat  useless.*)     Ha  —  hmmm! 
CAPT.  M.     Say  you  will  or  you  won't.     There's  no 
second  deal  here. 

Bride  gives  response,  with  perfect  coolness,  and  is 

given  away  ly  the  father. 

CAPT.  G.  (Thinking  to  show  his  learning. ,)  Jack, 
give  me  away  now,  quick! 

CAPT.  M.  You're  given  yourself  away  quite  enough. 
Her  right  hand,  man !  Repeat!  Repeat!  'Theodore 
Philip.'  Have  you  forgotten  your  own  name? 

CAPT.    G.    stumbles   through    Affirmation,   which 

Bride  repeats  without  a  tremor. 
CAPT.  M.     Now  the  ring!    Follow  the  Padre  !   Don't 
pull   off   my   glove !     Here   it  is !     Great  Cupid,  he's 
found  his  voice  ! 

G.  repeats  Troth  in  a  voice  to  l>e  heard  to  the  end 

of  the  Church  and  turns  on  his  heel. 
CAPT.  M.      (Desperately?)      Rein   back !      Back    to 
your  troop  !     'Tisn't  half  legal  yet. 

PADIIE.    .  .  .  joined  together  lot  no  man  put  asunder. 


158  WITH  ANY  AMAZEMENT 

CAPT.  G.  paralysed  with  fear  jibs  after  Blessing. 
CAPT.  M.     (Quickly.*)      On  your  own   front  —  one 
length.     Take  her  with  you.     I  don't  come.     You've 
nothing  to  say.     (CAPT.  G.  jingles  up  to  altar.*) 

CAPT.  M.  (In  a  piercing  rattle  meant  to  be  a  whis- 
per.*) Kneel,  you  stiff-necked  ruffian  !  Kneel ! 

PADRE.     .  .  .  whose  daughters  are  ye  so  long  as  ye 
do  well  and  are  not  afraid  with  any  amazement. 
CAPT.  M.     Dismiss!     Break  off!     Left  wheel! 

All  troop  to  vestry.     They  sign. 
CAPT.  M.     Kiss  Her,  Gaddy. 

CAPT.  G.  (Rubbing  the  ink  into  his  glove.*)  Eh! 
Wha— at? 

CAPT.  M.  (Taking  one  pace  to  Bride.*)  If  you  don't, 
I  shall. 

CAPT.  G.     (Interposing  an  arm.*)     Not  this  journey  ! 
General  kissing,  in  which  CAPT.  G.  is  pursued  by 

unknown  female. 

CAPT.  G.  (Faintly  to  M.)  This  is  Hades  I  Can  I 
wipe  my  face  now? 

CAPT.  M.  My  responsibility  has  ended.  Better  ask 
Missis  Gadsby. 

CAPT.  G.  winces  as  though  shot  and  procession  is 
Mendelssohned  out  of  Church  to  house,  where 
usual  tortures  take  place  over  the  wedding- 
cake. 

CAPT.  M.  (At  table.*)  Up  with  you,  Gaddy.  They 
expect  a  speech. 

CAPT.  G.  (After  three  minutes'  agony.*)  Ha  — 
hmmm.  (Thunders  of  applause.*) 

CAPT.  M.  Doocid  good,  for  a  first  attempt.  Now  go 
and  change  your  kit  while  Mamma  is  weeping  over  — 
Hhe  Missus.'  (CAPT.  G.  disappears.  CAPT.  M.  starts 


WITH   ANY   AMAZEMENT  159 

up  tearing  his  hair.)     It's  not  half  legal.     Where  are 
the  shoes  ?     Get  an  ayah. 

AYAH.  Missie  Captain  Sahib  done  gone  band  karo 
all  thejutis. 

CAPT.  M.  (Brandishing  scabbarded  sword.)  Woman, 
produce  those  shoes  !  Some  one  lend  me  a  bread-knife. 
We  mustn't  crack  Gaddy's  head  more  than  it  is.  {Slices 
heel  off  white  satin  slipper  and  puts  slipper  up  his 
sleeve.*)  Where  is  the  Bride  ?  *  {To  the  company  at 
large.)  Be  tender  with  that  rice.  It's  a  heathen  cus- 
tom. Give  me  the  big  bag. 

********* 
Bride  slips  out  quietly  into  'rickshaw  and  departs 

towards  the  sunset. 

CAPT.  M.  {In  the  open.)  Stole  away,  by  Jove ! 
So  much  the  worse  for  Gaddy !  Here  he  is.  Now 
Gaddy,  this'll  be  livelier  than  Amdheran!  Where's 
your  horse  ? 

CAPT.  G.     {Furiously,  seeing  that  the  women  are  out 

of  earshot.)     Where  the is  my  Wife  ? 

CAPT.  M.  Half-way  to  Mahasu  by  this  time.  You'll 
have  to  ride  like  Young  Lochinvar. 

Horse  comes  round  on  his  hind  legs  ;  refuses  to  let 

G.  handle  him. 

CAPT.  G.  Oh  you  will,  will  you  ?  Get  round,  you 
brute  —  you  hog  —  you  beast !  Get  round  ! 

Wrenches  horse's  head  over,  nearly  breaking  lower 
jaw ;  swings  himself  into  saddle,  and  sends 
home  both  spurs  in  the  midst  of  a  scattering  gale 
of  Best  Patna. 

CAPT.  M.  For  your  life  and  your  love  —  ride, 
Gaddy  !  —  And  God  bless  you  ! 

Throws  half  a  pound  of  rice  at  G.,  tv ho  disappears^ 


160  WITH  ANY  AMAZEMENT 

bowed  forward  on  the   saddle,  in  a   cloud  of 
sunlit  dust. 

CAPT.  M.  I've  lost  old  Gaddy.  (Lights  cigarette 
and  strolls  off,  singing  absently*) :  — 

'You  may  carve  it  on  his  tombstone,  you  may  cut  it  on  his  card, 
That  a  young  man  married  is  a  young  man  marred ! ' 

Miss  DEERCOTTRT.  (From  her  horse.")  Really, 
Captain  Mafflin!  You  are  more  plain  spoken  than 
polite ! 

CAPT.  M.  (Aside.")  They  say  marriage  is  like 
cholera.  'Wonder  who'll  be  the  next  victim. 

White  satin  slipper  slides  from  his  sleeve  and  falls 
at  his  feet.     Left  wondering. 


THE  GARDEN  OF  EDEN 

And  ye  shall  be  as — Gods ! 

SCENE.  —  Thymy  grass-plot  at  back  of  the  MaJiasu  ddk- 
bungaloiv,  overlooking  little  wooded  valley.  On  the  left, 
glimpse  of  the  Dead  Forest  of  Fagoo ;  on  the  right, 
Simla  Hills.  In  background,  line  of  the  Snows. 
CAPTAIN  GADSBY,  now  three  weeks  a  husband,  is  smok- 
ing the  pipe  of  peace  on  a  rug  in  the  sunshine.  Banjo 
and  tobacco-pouch  on  rug.  Overhead  the  Fagoo  eagles. 
MRS.  G.  comes  out  of  bungalow. 

MRS.  G.     My  husband ! 

CAPT.  G.  (JLazily,  ivith  intense  enjoyment.')  Eh, 
wha-at  ?  Say  that  again. 

MRS.  G.  I've  written  to  Mamma  and  told  her  that 
we  shall  be  back  on  the  17th. 

CAPT,  G.     Did  you  give  her  my  love? 

MRS.  G .  No,  I  kept  all  that  for  myself.  (Sitting  down 
by  his  side.')  I  thought  you  wouldn't  mind. 

CAPT.  G.  (With,  mock  sternness.')  I  object  awfly. 
How  did  you  know  that  it  was  yours  to  keep  ? 

MRS.  G.     I  guessed,  Phil. 

CAPT.    G.      (Rapturous!//.')     Lit-tle  Featherweight! 

MRS.  G.  I.  won't  be  called  those  sporting  pet  names, 
bad  boy. 

CAPT.  G.  You'll  be  called  anything  I  choose.  Plas 
it  ever  occurred  to  you,  Madam,  that  you  are  my  Wife? 


162  THE   GARDEN  OF  EDEN 

MRS.  G.     It  has.     I  haven't  ceased  wondering  at  it 

yet. 

CAPT.  G.  Nor  I.  It  seems  so  strange  ;  and  yet, 
somehow,  it  doesn't.  ( Confidently.*)  You  see,  it  could 
have  been  no  one  else. 

MRS.  G.  (Softly.}  No.  No  one  else  —  for  me  or 
for  you.  It  must  have  been  all  arranged  from  the  begin- 
ning. Phil,  tell  me  again  what  made  you  care  for  me. 

CAPT.  G.  How  could  I  help  it?  You  were  you,  you 
know. 

MRS.  G.  Did  you  ever  want  to  help  it  ?  Speak  the 
truth ! 

CAPT.  G.  (A  twinkle  in  his  eye.}  I  did,  darling,  just 
at  the  first.  But  only  at  the  very  first.  (Chuckles.} 
I  called  you  —  stoop  low  and  I'll  whisper  — '  a  little 
beast.'  Ho!  Ho!  Ho! 

MRS.  G.  (Taking  him  by  the  moustache  and  making 
him  sit  up.}  '  A  —  little  —  beast ! '  Stop  laughing  over 
your  crime  !  And  yet  you  had  the  — the  —  awful  cheek 
to  propose  to  me  ! 

CAPT.  G.  I'd  changed  my  mind  then.  And  you 
weren't  a  little  beast  any  more. 

MRS.  G.     Thank  you,  Sir!     And  when  was  I  ever? 

CAPT.  G.  Never!  But  that  first  day,  when  you  gave 
me  tea  in  that  peach-coloured  muslin  gown  thing,  you 
looked — you  did  indeed,  dear  —  such  an  absurd  little 
mite.  And  I  didn't  know  what  to  say  to  you. 

MRS.  G.  (Twisting  moustache.}  So  you  said  'little 
beast.'  Upon  my  word,  Sir  !  I  called  you  a  '  Crrrreat- 
ure,'  but  I  wish  now  I  had  called  you  something  worse. 

CAPT.  G.  -(Very  meekly.}  I  apologise,  but  you're 
hurting  me  awf'ly.  (Interlude.}  You're  welcome  to 
torture  me  again  on  those  terms. 


THE   GARDEN  OF  EDEN  163 

MRS.  G.     Oh,  why  did  you  let  me  do  it  ? 

CAPT.  G.    (Looking  across  valley.}     No  reason  in  par- 
ticular, but — if  it  amused  you  or  did  you  any  good  — 
you  might  —  wipe  those  dear  little  boots  of  yours  on  me. 

MRS.  G.  (Stretching  out  her  hands.}  Don't!  Oh, 
don't!  Philip,  my  King,  please  don't  talk  like  that. 
It's  how  I  feel.  You're  so  much  too  good  for  me.  So 
much  too  good ! 

CAPT.  G.  Me  !  I'm  not  fit  to  put  my  arm  round 
you.  (Puts  it  round.} 

MRS.  G.  Yes,  you  are.  But  I — what  have  I  ever 
done? 

CAPT.  G.  Given  me  a  wee  bit  of  your  heart,  haven't 
you,  my  Queen  ? 

MRS.  G.  That's  nothing.  Any  one  would  do  that. 
They  cou — couldn't  help  it. 

CAPT.  G.  Pussy,  you'll  make  me  horribly  conceited. 
Just  when  I  was  beginning  to  feel  so  humble,  too. 

MRS.  G.  Humble !  I  don't  believe  it's  in  your 
character. 

CAPT.  G.  What  do  you  know  of  my  character, 
Impertinence  ? 

MRS.  G.  Ah,  but  I  shall,  shan't  I,  Phil  ?  I  shall 
have  time  in  all  the  years  and  years  to  come,  to  know 
everything  about  you;  and  there  will  be  no  secrets 
between  us. 

CAPT.  G.  Little  witch !  I  believe  you  know  me 
thoroughly  already. 

MRS.  G.     I  think  I  can  guess.     You're  selfish? 

CAPT.  G.     Yes. 

MRS.  G.     Foolish? 

CAPT.  G.      Very. 

MRS.  G.     And  a  dear  ? 


164  THE   GARDEN  OF  EDEN 

CAPT.  G.     That  is  as  my  lady  pleases. 

MRS.  G.  Then  your  lady  is  pleased.  (A  pause.) 
D'you  know  that  we're  two  solemn,  serious,  grown-up 
people • 

CAPT.  G.  (Tilting  her  straw  hat  over  her  eyes.)  You 
grown-up  !  Pooh !  You're  a  baby. 

MRS.  G.     And  we're  talking  nonsense. 

CAPT.  G.  Then  let's  go  on  talking  nonsense.  I 
rather  like  it.  Pussy,  I'll  tell  you  a  secret.  Promise 
not  to  repeat  ? 

MRS.  G.     Ye — es.     Only  to  you. 

CAPT.  G.     I  love  you. 

MRS.  G.     Re-ally  !     For  how  long? 

CAPT.  G.     For  ever  and  ever. 

MRS.  G.     That's  a  long  time. 

CAPT.  G.  'Think  so?  It's  the  shortest  /  can  do 
with. 

MRS.  G.     You're  getting  quite  clever. 

CAPT.  G.     I'm  talking  to  you. 

MRS.  G.  Prettily  turned.  Hold  up  your  stupid  old 
head  and  I'll  pay  you  for  it ! 

CAPT.  G.  (Affecting  supreme  contempt.)  Take  it 
yourself  if  you  want  it. 

MRS.  G.  I've  a  great  mind  to — and  I  will !  (Takes 
it  and  is  repaid  with  interest.) 

CAPT.  G.  Little  Featherweight,  it's  my  opinion  that 
we  are  a  couple  of  idiots. 

MRS.  G.  We're  the  only  two  sensible  people  in  the 
world  !  Ask  the  eagle.  He's  coming  by. 

CAPT.  G.  Ah!  I  daresay  he's  seen  a  good  many 
sensible  people  at  Mahasu.  They  say  that  those  birds 
live  for  ever  so  long. 

MRS.  G.     How  long? 


THE   GARDEN   OF  EDEN  165 

CAPT.  G.     A  hundred  and  twenty  years. 

MRS.  G.  A  hundred  and  twenty  years  !  O-oh  \ 
And  in  a  hundred  and  twenty  years  where  will  these 
two  sensible  people  be  ? 

CAPT.  G.  What  does  it  matter  so  long  as  we  are 
together  now? 

MRS.  G.  (Looking  round  the  horizon.*)  Yes.  Only 
you  and  I  —  I  and  you  —  in  the  whole  wide,  wide  world 
until  the  end.  (Sees  the  line  of  the  Snows.)  How  big 
and  quiet  the  hills  look !  D'you  think  they  care  for  us  ? 

CAPT.  G.  'Can't  say  I've  consulted  'em  particularly, 
/care,  and  that's  enough  for  me. 

MRS.  G.  (Drawing  nearer  to  him.')  Yes,  now — but 
afterwards.  What's  that  little  black  blur  on  the  Snows? 

CAPT.  G.  A  snowstorm,  forty  miles  away.  You'll 
see  it  move,  as  the  wind  carries  it  across  the  face  of  that 
spur,  and  then  it  will  be  all  gone. 

MRS.  G.     And  then  it  will  be  all  gone.     (Shivers.') 

CAPT.  G.  (Anxiously.')  'Not  chilled,  pet,  are  you? 
'Better  let  me  get  your  cloak. 

MRS.  G.  No.  Don't  leave  me,  Phil.  Stay  here.  I 
believe  I  am  afraid.  Oh,  why  are  the  hills  so  horrid! 
Phil,  promise  me,  promise  me  that  you'll  always  love 
me. 

CAPT.  G.  What's  the  trouble,  darling?  I  can't 
promise  any  more  than  I  have ;  but  I'll  promise  that 
again  and  again  if  you  like. 

MRS.  G.  (Her  head  on  his  shoulder.)  Say  it,  then 
—  say  it !  N-no  —  don't !  The  —  the  —  eagles  would 
laugh.  (Recovering.')  My  husband,  you've  married  a 
little  goose. 

CAPT.  G.  (Very  tenderly.}  Havel?  I  am  content 
whatever  she  is,  so  long  as  she  is  mine. 


166  THE  GARDEN  OF  EDEN 

MRS.  G.  (Quickly.')  Because  she  is  yours  or  because 
she  is  me  mineself  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Because  she  is  both.  (Piteously.')  I'm 
not  clever,  dear,  and  I  don't  think  I  can  make  myself 
understood  properly. 

MRS.  G.  I  understand.  Pip,  will  you  tell  me 
something  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Anything  you  like.  (Aside.')  I  wonder 
what's  coming  now. 

MRS.  G.  (Haltingly,  Tier  eyes  lowered.")  You  told 
me  once  in  the  old  days  —  centuries  and  centuries  ago 
—  that  you  had  been  engaged  before.  I  didn't  say 
anything  —  then. 

CAPT.  G.     (Innocently.')     Why  not? 

MRS.  G.  (Raising  her  eyes  to  his.)  Because  — 
because  I  was  afraid  of  losing  you,  my  heart.  But 
now  —  tell  about  it — please. 

CAPT.  G.  There's  nothing  to  tell.  I  was  awf  ly  old 
then  —  nearly  two  and  twenty  —  and  she  was  quite 
that. 

MRS.  G.  That  means  she  Wo«  v>lder  than  you.  I 
shouldn't  like  her  to  have  been  younger.  Well? 

CAPT.  G.  Well,  I  fancied  myself  in  love  and  raved 
about  a  bit,  and  —  oh,  yes,  by  Jove  I  I  made  up  poetry. 
Ha!  Ha! 

MRS.  G.  You  never  wrote  any  for  me!  What 
happened  ? 

CAPT.  G.  I  came  out  here,  and  the  whole  thing 
went  phut.  She  wrote  to  say  that  there  had  been  a 
mistake,  and  then  she  married. 

MRS.  G.     Did  she  care  for  you  much? 

CAPT.  G.  No.  At  least  she  didn't  show  it  as  far  as 
I  remember. 


THE  GARDEN  OF  EDEN  167 

MRS,  G.  As  far  as  you  remember !  Do  you  remem- 
ber her  name  ?  (Hears  it  and  bows  her  head.')  Thank 
you,  my  husband. 

CAPT.  G.  Who  but  you  had  the  right?  Now,  Little 
Featherweight,  have  you  ever  been  mixed  up  in  any 
dark  and  dismal  tragedy  ? 

MRS.  G.     If  you  call  me  Mrs.  Gadsby,  p'raps  I'll  tell. 

CAPT.  G.  (Throwing  Parade  rasp  into  his  voice.") 
Mrs.  Gadsby,  confess ! 

MRS.  G.  Good  Heavens,  Phil !  I  never  knew  that 
you  could  speak  in  that  terrible  voice. 

CAPT.  G.  You  don't  know  half  my  accomplishments 
yet.  Wait  till  we  are  settled  in  the  Plains,  and  I'll 
show  you  how  I  bark  at  my  troop.  You  were  going  to 
say,  darling? 

MRS.  G.  I  —  I  don't  like  to,  after  that  voice. 
(Tremulously.*)  Phil,  never  you  dare  to  speak  to  me 
in  that  tone,  whatever  I  may  do ! 

CAPT.  G.  My  poor  little  love  !  Why,  you're  shak- 
ing all  over.  I  am  so  sorry.  Of  course  I  never  meant 
to  upset  you.  Don't  tell  me  anything.  I'm  a  brute. 

MRS.  G.  No,  you  aren't,  and  I  will  tell  —  There  was 
a  man. 

CAPT.  G.     (Lightly.')     Was  there  ?    Lucky  man ! 

MRS.  G-  (In  a  whisper.)  And  I  thought  I  cared 
for  him. 

CAPT.  G.     Still  luckier  man !     Well  ? 

MRS.  G.  And  I  thought  I  cared  for  him  —  and  I 
didn't  —  and  then  you  came  —  and  I  cared  for  you  very, 
very  much  indeed.  That's  all.  (Face  hidden.)  You 
aren't  angry,  are  you? 

CAPT.  G.  Angry?  Not  in  the  least.  (Aside.) 
Good  Lord,  what  have  I  done  to  deserve  this  angel  ? 


168  THE   GARDEN   OF  EDEN 

MRS.  G.  (Aside.*)  And  he  never  asked  for  the 
name !  How  funny  men  are !  But  perhaps  it's  as 
well. 

CAPT.  G.  That  man  will  go  to  heaven  because  you 
once  thought  you  cared  for  him.  'Wonder  if  you'll 
ever  drag  me  up  there  ? 

MRS.  G.     (Firmly.)     'Sha'n't  go  if  you  don't. 

CAPT.  G.  Thanks.  I  say,  Pussy,  I  don't  know  much 
about  your  religious  beliefs.  You  were  brought  up  to 
believe  in  a  heaven  and  all  that,  weren't  you  ? 

MRS.  G.  Yes.  But  it  was  a  pincushion  heaven, 
with  hymn-books  in  all  the  pews. 

CAPT.  G.  (Wagging  his  head  with  intense  convic- 
tion.) Never  mind.  There  is  a  pukka  heaven. 

MRS.  G.  Where  do  you  bring  that  message  from, 
my  prophet? 

CAPT.  G.  Here!  Because  \ve  care  for  each  other. 
So  it's  all  right. 

MRS.  G.  (As  a  troop  of  langurs  crash  through  the 
branches.*)  So  it's  all  right.  But  Darwin  says  that  we 
came  from  those  ! 

CAPT.  G.  (Placidly.*)  Ah!  Darwin  was  never  in 
love  with  an  angel.  That  settles  it.  Sstt,  you  brutes ! 
Monkeys,  indeed !  You  shouldn't  read  those  books. 

MRS.  G.  (Folding  her  hands.)  If  it  pleases  my 
Lord  the  King  to  issue  proclamation. 

CAPT.  G.  Don't,  dear  one.  There  are  no  orders 
between  us.  Only  I'd  rather  ^ou  didn't.  They  lead 
to  nothing,  and  bother  people's  heads. 

MRS.  G.     Like  your  first  engagement. 

CAPT.  G.  (With  an  immense  calm.)  That  was  a 
necessary  evil  and  led  to  you.  Are  you  nothing  ? 

MRS.  G.     Not  so  very  much,  am  I  ? 


THE   GARDEN  OF  EDEN  16$ 

CAPT.  G.     All  this  world  and  the  next  to  me. 

MRS.  G.  (  Very  softly?)  My  boy  of  boys  !  Shall  I 
tell  you  something  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Yes,  if  it's  not  dreadful — about  other 
men. 

MRS.  G.     It's  about  my  own  bad  little  self. 

CAPT.  G.     Then  it  must  be  good.     Go  on,  dear. 

MRS.  G.  (Slowly, )  I  don't  know  why  I'm  telling 

you,  Pip ;  but  if  ever  you  marry  again (Interlude.) 

Take  your  hand  from  my  mouth  or  I'll  bite  !  In  the 
future,  then  remember  —  I  don't  know  quite  how  to 
put  it! 

CAPT.  G.  (Snorting  indignantly.)  Don't  try.  '  Marry 
again,'  indeed! 

MRS.  G.  I  must.  Listen,  my  husband.  Never, 
never,  never  tell  your  wife  anything  that  you  do  not 
wish  her  to  remember  and  think  over  all  her  life.  Be- 
cause a  woman  —  yes,  I  am  a  woman  —  can't  forget. 

CAPT.  G.     By  Jove,  how  do  you  know  that  ? 

MRS.  G.  (Confusedly.)  I  don't.  I'm  only  guessing. 
I  am  —  I  was  —  a  silly  little  girl ;  but  I  feel  that  I  know 
so  much,  oh,  so  very  much  more  than  you,  dearest.  To 
begin  with,  I'm  your  wife. 

CAPT.  G.     So  I  have  been  led  to  believe. 

MRS.  G.  And  I  shall  want  to  know  every  one  of 
your  secrets  —  to  share  everything  you  know  with  you. 
(Stares  round  desperately.) 

CAPT.  G.  So  you  shall,  dear,  so  you  shall  —  but 
don't  look  like  that. 

MRS.  G.  For  your  own  sake  don't  stop  me,  Phil.  I 
shall  never  talk  to  you  in  this  way  again.  You  must 
not  tell  me !  At  least,  not  now.  Later  on,  when  I'm 
an  old  matron  it  won't  matter,  but  if  you  love  me,  be 


170  THE  GARDEN  OF  EDEN 

very  good  to  me  now ;  for  this  part  of  my  life  I  shall 
never  forget !  Have  I  made  you  understand  ? 

CAPT.  G.  I  think  so,  child.  Have  I  said  anything 
yet  that  you  disapprove  of  ? 

MRS.  G.  Will  you  be  very  angry?  That  —  that 
voice,  and  what  you  said  about  the  engagement 

CAPT.  G.     But  you  asked  to  be  told  that,  darling. 

MRS.  G.  And  that's  why  you  shouldn't  have  told 
me !  You  must  be  the  judge,  and,  oh,  Pip,  dearly  as  I 
love  you,  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  help  you !  I  shall  hinder 
you,  and  you  must  judge  in  spite  of  me ! 

CAPT.  G.  (Meditatively  )  We  have  a  great  many 
things  to  find  out  together,  God  help  us  both  —  say  so, 
Pussy  —  but  we  shall  understand  each  other  better 
every  day;  and  I  think  I'm  beginning  to  see  now. 
How  in  the  world  did  you  come  to  know  just  the  impor- 
tance of  giving  me  just  that  lead  ? 

MRS.  G.  I've  told  you  that  I  don't  know.  Only 
somehow  it  seemed  that,  in  all  this  new  life,  I  was  being 
guided  for  your  sake  as  well  as  my  own. 

CAPT.  G.  ( Aside.")  Then  Mafflin  was  right !  They 
know,  and  we  —  we're  blind  —  all  of  us.  (Lightly.') 
'Getting  a  little  beyond  our  depth,  dear,  aren't  we  ?  I'll 
remember,  and,  if  I  fail,  let  me  be  punished  as  I  deserve. 

MRS.  G.  There  shall  be  no  punishment.  We'll  start 
into  life  together  from  here  —  you  and  I  —  and  no  one 
else. 

CAPT.  G.  And  no  one  else.  (A  pause.)  Your  eye- 
lashes are  all  wet,  Sweet  ?  Was  there  ever  such  a  quaint 
little  Absurdity? 

MRS.  G.  Was  there  ever  such  nonsense  talked 
before  ? 

CAPT.   G.     (Knocking   the   ashes  out   of   his  pipe.) 


THE   GARDEN  OF  EDEN  171 

'Tisn't  what  we  say,  it's  what  we  don't  say,  that  helps. 
And  it's  all  the  profoundest  philosophy.  But  no  one 
would  understand  —  even  if  it  were  put  into  a  book. 

MRS.  G.  The  idea!  No  —  only  we  ourselves,  or 
people  like  ourselves  —  if  there  are  any  people  like  us. 

CAPT.  G.  (Magisterially.')  All  people,  not  like  our- 
selves, are  blind  idiots. 

MRS.  G.  (Wiping  Tier  eyes.")  Do  you  think,  then, 
that  there  are  any  people  as  happy  as  we  are  ? 

CAPT.  G.  'Must  be  —  unless  we've  appropriated  all 
the  happiness  in  the  world. 

MRS.  G.  (Looking  towards  Simla.")  Poor  dears  I 
Just  fancy  if  we  have  ! 

CAPT.  G.  Then  we'll  hang  on  to  the  whole  show, 
for  it's  a  great  deal  too  jolly  to  lose  —  eh,  wife  o' 
mine? 

MRS.  G.  O  Pip!  Pip!  How  much  of  you  is  a 
solemn,  married  man  and  how  much  a  horrid,  slangy 
schoolboy  ? 

CAPT.  G.  When  you  tell  me  how  much  of  you  was 
eighteen  last  birthday  and  how  much  is  as  old  as  the 
Sphinx  and  twice  as  mysterious,  perhaps  I'll  attend  to 
you.  Lend  me  that  banjo.  The  spirit  moveth  me  to 
yowl  at  the  sunset. 

MRS.  G.  Mind !  It's  not  tuned.  Ah !  How  that 
jars. 

CAPT.  G.  (Turning  pegs.*)  It's  amazingly  difficult 
to  keep  a  banjo  to  proper  pitch. 

MRS.  G.  It's  the  same  with  all  musical  instruments. 
What  shall  it  be  ? 

CAPT.  G.  '  Vanity,'  and  let  the  hills  hear.  (Sings 
through  the  first  and  half  of  the  second  verse.  Turning  to 
MRS.  G.)  Now,  chorus !  Sing,  Pussy  1 


172  THE  GARDEN  OF  EDEN 

BOTH  TOGETHER.     (Con  brio,  to  the  horror  of  the 

monkeys  who  are  settling  for  the  night.*)  — 

*  Vanity,  all  is  Vanity,'  said  Wisdom,  scorning  me  — 
I  clasped  my  true  Love's  tender  hand  and  answered 

frank  and  free — ee :  — 
'  If  this  be  Vanity  who'd  be  wise  ? 
If  this  be  Vanity  who'd  be  wise? 
If  this  be  Vanity  who'd  be  wi — ise'r 
(Crescendo.)     Vanity  let  it  be  1 ' 

MRS.  G.     (Defiantly  to  the  gray  of  the  evening 
'Vanity  let  it  be!' 

ECHO.     (From  the  Fagoo  spur.)     Let  it  be ! 


PATIMA 

And  you  may  go  into  every  room  of  the  house  and  see  everything 
that  is  there,  but  into  the  Blue  Room  you  must  not  go.  —  The  Story 
of  Blue  Beard, 

SCENE.  —  Tfie  GADSBYS'  bungalow  in  the  Plains.  Time, 
11  A.M.  on  a  Sunday  morning.  CAPTAIN  GADSBY, 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  is  bending  over  a  complete  set  of 
Hussar's  equipment,  from  saddle  to  picketing-rope, 
which  is  neatly  spread  over  the  floor  of  his  study.  He 
is  smoking  an  unclean  briar,  and  his  forehead  is  puck- 
ered with  thought. 

CAPT.  G.  (To  himself,  fingering  a  headstall.")  Jack's 
an  ass.  There's  enough  brass  on  this  to  load  a  mule  — 
and,  if  the  Americans  know  anything  about  anything, 
it  can  be  cut  down  to  a  bit  only.  'Don't  want  the 
watering-bridle,  either.  Humbug  !  —  Half  a  dozen  sets 
of  chains  and  pulleys  for  one  horse!  Rot!  (Scratching 
his  head.~)  Now,  let's  consider  it  all  over  from  the 
beginning.  By  Jove,  I've  forgotten  the  scale  of 
weights  !  Ne'er  mind.  'Keep  the  bit  only,  and  elim- 
inate every  boss  from  the  crupper  to  breastplate.  No 
breastplate  at  all.  Simple  leather  strap  across  the 
breast  —  like  the  Russians.  Hi !  Jack  never  thought 
of  that! 

MRS.  G.  (Entering  hastily,  her  hand  bound  in  a 
clothJ)  Oh,  Pip,  I've  scalded  my  hand  over  that  horrid, 
horrid  Tiparee  jam  I 

173 


174  FATIMA 

CAPT.  G.     (Absently.)     Eh !     Wha-at  ? 

MES.  G.  (  Wit Ji  round-eyed  reproach.')  I've  scalded 
it  aw-iully  I  Aren't  you  sorry  ?  And  I  did  so  want 
that  jam  to  jam  properly. 

CAPT.  G.  Poor  little  woman!  Let  me  kiss  the 
place  and  make  it  well.  (Unrolling  bandage?)  You 
small  sinner  !  Where's  that  scald  ?  I  can't  see  it. 

MRS.  G.  On  the  top  of  the  little  finger.  There  !  — 
It's  a  most  'normous  big  burn ! 

CAPT.  G.  (Kissing  little  finger.")  Baby!  LetHyder 
look  after  the  jam.  You  know  I  don't  care  for  sweets. 

MRS.  G.     In-deed?  — Pip! 

CAPT.  G.  Not  of  that  kind,  anyhow.  And  now  run 
along,  Minnie,  and  leave  me  to  my  own  base  devices. 
I'm  busy. 

MRS.  G.  (Calmly  settling  herself  in  long  chair. *)  So 
I  see.  What  a  mess  you're  making !  Why  have  you 
brought  all  that  smelly  leather  stuff  into  the  house  ? 

CAPT.  G.     To  play  with.     Do  you  mind,  dear? 

MRS.  G.     Let  me  play  too.     I'd  like  it. 

CAPT.  G.  I'm  afraid  you  wouldn't,  Pussy  — -  Don't 
you  think  that  jam  will  burn,  or  whatever  it  is  that  jam 
does  when  it's  not  looked  after  by  a  clever  little  house- 
keeper ? 

MRS.  G.  I  thought  you  said  Hyder  could  attend  to 
it.  I  left  him  in  the  veranda,  stirring  —  when  I  hurt 
myself  so. 

CAPT.  G.  (His  eye  returning  to  the  equipment.') 
Po-oor  little  woman !  —  Three  pounds  four  and  seven  is 
three  eleven,  and  that  can  be  cut  down  to  two  eight, 
with  just  a  lee-tie  care,  without  weakening  anything. 
Farriery  is  all  rot  in  incompetent  hands.  What's  the 
use  of  a  shoe-case  when  a  man's  scouting?  He  can't 


FATIMA  175 

stick  it  on  with  a  lick  —  like  a  stamp  —  the  shoe! 
Skittles  I 

MRS.  G.  What's  skittles?  Pah!  What  is  this 
leather  cleaned  with  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Cream  and  champagne  and —  Look  here, 
dear,  do  you  really  want  to  talk  to  me  about  anything 
important  ? 

MKS.  G.  No.  I've  done  my  accounts,  and  I  thought 
I'd  like  to  see  what  you're  doing. 

CAPT.  G.  Well,  love,  now  you've  seen  and 

Would  you  mind? —  That  is  to  say  —  Minnie,  I  really 
am  busy. 

MRS.  G.     You  want  me  to  go  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Yes,  dear,  for  a  little  while.  This  tobacco 
will  hang  in  your  dress,  and  saddlery  doesn't  interest 
you. 

MRS.  G.     Everything  you  do  interests  me,  Pip. 

CAPT.  G.  Yes,  I  know,  I  know,  dear.  I'll  tell  you 
all  about  it  some  day  when  I've  put  a  head  on  this 
thing.  In  the  meantime  — 

MRS.  G.  I'm  to  be  turned  out  of  the  room  like  a 
troublesome  child? 

CAPT.  G.  No-o.  I  don't  mean  that  exactly.  But, 
you  see,  I  shall  be  tramping  up  and  down,  shifting 
these  things  to  and  fro,  and  I  shall  be  in  your  way, 
Don't  you  think  so? 

MRS.  G.  Can't  I  lift  them  about?  Let  me  try. 
{Readies  forward  to  trooper's  saddle.') 

CAPT.  G.  Good  gracious,  child,  don't  touch  it. 
You'll  hurt  yourself.  {Picking  up  saddle.')  Little 
girls  aren't  expected  to  handle  numdahs.  Now,  where 
would  you  like  it  put?  {Holds  saddle  above  his  head.) 

MRS.   G.     {A  break  in  her  voice.)     Nowhere.     Pip, 


176  FATIMA 

how  good  you  are  —  and  how  strong !  Oh,  what's  that 
ugly  red  streak  inside  your  arm  ? 

CAPT.  G.  (Lowering  saddle  quickly.')  Nothing. 
It's  a  mark  of  sorts.  (Aside.')  And  Jack's  coming  to 
tiffin  with  his  notions  all  cut  and  dried ! 

MRS.  G.  I  know  it's  a  mark,  but  I've  never  seen  it 
before.  It  runs  all  up  the  arm.  What  is  it? 

CAPT.  G.     A  cut  —  if  you  want  to  know. 

MRS.  G.  Want  to  know !  Of  course  I  do !  I  can't 
have  my  husband  cut  to  pieces  in  this  way.  How  did 
it  come  ?  Was  it  an  accident  ?  Tell  me,  Pip. 

CAPT.  G.  (Grimly.')  No.  'Twasn't  an  accident 
I  got  it  —  from  a  man  —  in  Afghanistan. 

MRS.  G.    In  action  ?    Oh,  Pip,  and  you  never  told  me  I 

CAPT.  G.     I'd  forgotten  all  about  it. 

MRS.  G.  Hold  up  your  arm  !  What  a  horrid,  ugly 
scar!  Are  you  sure  it  doesn't  hurt  now!  How  did 
the  man  give  it  you ! 

CAPT.  G.  (Desperately  looking  at  his  watch.~)  With 
a  knife.  I  came  down  —  old  Van  Loo  did,  that's  to 
say  —  and  fell  on  my  leg,  so  I  couldn't  run.  And  then 
this  man  came  up  and  began  chopping  at  me  as  I 
sprawled. 

MRS.  G.  Oh,  don't,  don't!  That's  enough!  — 
Well,  what  happened? 

CAPT.  G.  I  couldn't  get  to  my  holster,  and  Mafflin 
came  round  the  corner  and  stopped  the  performance. 

MRS.  G.  How?  Hes  such  a  lazy  man,  I  don't 
believe  he  did. 

CAPT.  G.  Don't  you?  I  don't  think  the  man  had 
much  doubt  about  it.  Jack  cut  his  head  off. 

MRS.  G.  Cut  —  his  —  head  —  off !  4  With  one  blow,1 
as  they  say  in  the  books  ? 


FATIMA  177 

CAPT.  G.  I'm  not  sure.  I  was  too  interested  in  my- 
self to  know  much  about  it.  Anyhow,  the  head  was 
off,  and  Jack  was  punching  old  Van  Loo  in  the  ribs  to 
make  him  get  up.  Now  you  know  all  about  it,  dear, 
and  now 

MRS.  G.  You  want  me  to  go,  of  course.  You  never 
told  me  about  this,  though  I've  been  married  to  you 
for  ever  so  long ;  and  you  never  would  have  told  me  if 
I  hadn't  found  out ;  and  you  never  do  tell  me  anything 
about  yourself,  or  what  you  do,  or  what  you  take  an 
interest  in. 

CAPT.  G.     Darling,  I'm  always  with  you,  aren't  I  ? 

MRS.  G.  Always  in  my  pocket,  you  were  going  to 
say.  I  know  you  are ;  but  you  are  always  thinking 
away  from  me. 

CAPT.  G.  (Trying  to  hide  a  smile.')  Am  I?  I 
wasn't  aware  of  it.  I'm  awf'ly  sorry. 

MRS.  G.  (Piteously.}  Oh,  don't  make  fun  of  me ! 
Pip,  you  know  what  I  mean.  When  you  are  reading 
one  of  those  things  about  Cavalry,  by  that  idiotic 
Prince  —  why  doesn't  he  be  a  Prince  instead  of  a 
stable-boy  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Prince  Kraft  a  stable-boy — Oh,  my  Aunt ! 
Never  mind,  dear.  You  were  going  to  say  ? 

MRS.  G.  It  doesn't  matter  ;  you  don't  care  for  what 
I  say.  Only  —  only  you  get  up  and  walk  about  the 
room,  staring  in  front  of  you,  and  then  Maillm  comes  in 
to  dinner,  and  after  I'm  in  the  drawing-room  I  can  hear 
you  and  him  talking,  and  talking,  and  talking,  about 
things  I  can't  understand,  and  —  oh,  I  get  so  tired  and 
feel  so  lonely !  —  I  don't  want  to  complain  and  be  a 
trouble,  Pip  ;  but  I  do  —  indeed  I  do  ! 

CAPT.   G.     My  poor  darling  !      I  never  thought  of 


178  FATIMA 

that.  Why  don't  you  ask  some  nice  people  in  to 
dinner  ? 

MRS.  G.  Nice  people!  Where  am  I  to  find  them? 
Horrid  frumps !  And  if  I  did,  I  shouldn't  be  amused. 
You  know  I  only  want  you. 

CAPT.  G.     And  you  have  me  surely,  Sweetheart? 

MRS.  G.  I  have  not  I  Pip,  why  don't  you  take  me 
into  your  life  ? 

CAPT.  G.  More  than  I  do?  That  would  be  difficult, 
dear. 

MRS.  G.  Yes,  I  suppose  it  would  —  to  you.  I'm  no 
help  to  you  —  no  companion  to  you ;  and  you  like  to 
have  it  so. 

CAPT.  G.     Aren't  you  a  little  unreasonable,  Pussy? 

MRS.  G.  {Stamping  her  foot.)  I'm  the  most  reason- 
able woman  in  the  world  —  when  I'm  treated  properly. 

CAPT.  G.  And  since  when  have  I  been  treating  you 
improperly  ? 

MRS.  G.  Always  —  and  since  the  beginning.  You 
"know  you  have. 

CAPT.  G.     I  don't ;  but  I'm  willing  to  be  convinced. 

MRS.  G.     {Pointing  to  saddlery.)     There ! 

CAPT.  G.     How  do  you  mean? 

MRS.  G.  What  does  all  that  mean?  Why  am  I  not 
to  be  told  ?  Is  it  so  precious  ? 

CAPT.  G.  I  forget  its  exact  Government  value  just 
at  present.  It  means  that  it  is  a  great  deal  too  heavy. 

MRS.  G.     Then  why  do  you  touch  it? 

CAPT.  G.  To  make  it  lighter.  See  here,  little  love, 
I've  one  notion  and  Jack  has  another,  but  we  are  both 
agreed  that  all  this  equipment  is  about  thirty  pounds 
too  heavy.  The  thing  is  how  to  cut  it  down  without 
weakening  any  part  of  it,  and,  at  the  same  time,  allow- 


FATIMA  179 

ing  the  trooper  to  carry  everything  he  wants  for  his  own 
comfort  —  socks  and  shirts  and  things  of  that  kind. 

MRS.  G.  Why  doesn't  he  pack  them  in  a  little 
trunk? 

CAPT.  G.  (Kissing  her.")  Oh,  you  darling!  Pack 
them  in  a  little  trunk,  indeed!  Hussars  don't  carry 
trunks,  and  it's  a  most  important  thing  to  make  the 
horse  do  all  the  carrying. 

MRS.  G.  But  why  need  you  bother  about  it  ?  You're 
not  a  trooper. 

CAPT.  G.  No :  but  I  command  a  few  score  of  him ; 
and  equipment  is  nearly  everything  in  these  days. 

MRS.  G.     More  than  me  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Stupid!  Of  course  not;  but  it's  a  matter 
that  I'm  tremendously  interested  in,  because  if  I  or 
Jack,  or  I  and  Jack,  work  out  some  sort  of  lighter  sad- 
dlery and  all  that,  it's  possible  that  we  may  get  it 
adopted. 

MRS.  G.     How? 

CAPT.  G.  Sanctioned  at  Home,  where  they  will 
make  a  sealed  pattern  —  a  pattern  that  all  the  saddlers 
must  copy  ~  and  so  it  will  be  used  by  all  the  regiments. 

MRS.  G.     And  that  interests  you  ? 

CAPT.  G.  It's  part  of  my  profession,  y'know,  and 
my  profession  is  a  good  deal  to  me.  Everything  in  a 
soldier's  equipment  is  important,  and  if  we  can  improve 
that  equipment,  so  much  the  better  for  the  soldiers  and 
for  us. 

MRS.  G.     Who's 'us*? 

CAPT.  G.  Jack  and  I ;  only  Jack's  notions  are  too 
radical.  What's  that  big  sigh  for,  Minnie? 

MKS.  G.  Oh,  nothing  —  and  you've  kept  all  this 
a  secret  from  me  1  Why? 


180  FATIMA 

CAPT.  G.  Not  a  secret,  exactly,  dear.  I  didn't  say 
anything  about  it  to  you  because  I  didn't  think  it  would 
amuse  you. 

MRS.  G.     And  am  I  only  made  to  be  amused? 

CAPT.  G.  No,  of  course.  I  merely  mean  that  it 
couldn't  interest  you. 

MRS.  G.  It's  your  work  and  —  and  if  you'd  let  me, 
I'd  count  all  these  things  up.  If  they  are  too  heavy, 
you  know  by  how  much  they  are  too  heavy,  and  you 
must  have  a  list  of  things  made  out  to  your  scale  of 
lightness,  and 

CAPT.  G.  I  have  got  both  scales  somewhere  in  my 
head ;  but  it's  hard  to  tell  how  light  you  can  make  a 
headstall,  for  instance,  until  you've  actually  had  a 
model  made. 

MRS.  G.  But  if  you  read  out  the  list,  I  could  copy 
it  down,  and  pin  it  up  there  just  above  your  table. 
Wouldn't  that  do  ? 

CAPT.  G.  It  would  be  awf'ly  nice,  dear,  but  it 
would  be  giving  you  trouble  for  nothing.  I  can't  work 
that  way.  I  go  by  rule  of  thumb.  I  know  the  present 
scale  of  weights,  and  the  other  one  —  the  one  that  I'm 
trying  to  work  to  —  will  shif t  and  vary  so  much  that 
I  couldn't  be  certain,  even  if  I  wrote  it  down. 

MRS.  G.  I'm  so  sorry.  I  thought  I  might  help.  Is 
there  anything  else  that  I  could  be  of  use  in? 

CAPT.  G.  (Looking  round  the  room.)  I  can't  think 
of  anything.  You're  always  helping  me,  you  know. 

MRS.  G.     Ami?     How? 

CAPT.  G.  You  are  you  of  course,  and  as  long  as 
you're  near  me  —  I  can't  explain  exactly,  but  it's  in 
the  air. 

M  us.  G.    And  that's  why  you  wanted  to  send  me  away  ? 


FATIMA  181 

CAPT.  G.     That's  only  when  I'm  trying  to  do  work 

grubby  work  like  this. 

MRS.  G.     Mafflin's  better,  then,  isn't  he  ? 

CAPT.  G.  {Rashly.}  Of  course  he  is.  Jack  and  I 
have  been  thinking  along  the  same  groove  for  two  or 
three  years  about  this  equipment.  It's  our  hobby,  and 
it  may  really  be  useful  some  day. 

MRS.  G.  {After  a  pause.}  And  that's  all  that  you 
have  away  from  me  ? 

CAPT.  G.  It  isn't  very  far  away  from  you  now. 
Take  care  the  oil  on  that  bit  doesn't  come  off  on  your 
dress. 

MRS.  G.  I  wish — I  wish  so  much  that  I  could  really 
help  you.  I  believe  I  could  —  if  I  left  the  room.  But 
that's  not  what  I  mean. 

CAPT.  G.  {Aside.'}  Give  me  patience !  I  wish  she 
would  go.  {Aloud.'}  I  assure  you  you  can't  do  any- 
thing for  me,  Minnie,  and  I  must  really  settle  down  to 
this.  Where's  my  pouch? 

MRS.  G.  {Crossing  to  writing-table.}  Here  you  are, 
Bear.  What  a  mess  you  keep  your  table  in ! 

CAPT.  G.  Don't  touch  it.  There's  a  method  in  my 
madness,  though  you  mightn't  think  of  it. 

MRS.  G.  {At  table.}  I  want  to  look  —  Do  you 
keep  accounts,  Pip? 

CAPT.  G.  {Bending  over  saddlery.}  Of  a  sort.  Are 
you  rummaging  among  the  Troop  papers?  Be 
careful. 

MRS.  G.  Why?  I  shan't  disturb  anything.  Good 
gracious !  I  had  no  idea  that  you  had  anything  to  do 
with  so  many  sick  horses. 

CAPT.  G.  'Wish  I  hadn't,  but  they  insist  on  falling 
sick.  Minnie,  if  J  \vove  you  I  really  should  not  investi- 


182  FATTMA 

gate  those  papers.    You  may  come  across   something 
that  you  won't  like. 

MRS.  G.  Why  will  you  always  treat  me  like  a  child? 
I  know  I'm  not  displacing  the  horrid  things. 

CAPT.  G.  (Resignedly.)  Very  well,  then.  Don't 
blame  me  if  anything  happens.  Play  with  the  table 
and  let  me  go  on  with  the  saddlery.  (Slipping  hand 
into  trousers-pocket.)  Oh,  the  deuce! 

MRS.  G.     (Her  lack  to  G.)     What's  that  for? 

CAPT.  G.  Nothing.  (Aside.)  There's  not  much 
in  it,  but  I  wish  I'd  torn  it  up. 

MRS.  G.  (Turning  over  contents  of  table.")  I  know 
you'll  hate  me  for  this ;  but  I  do  want  to  see  what  your 
work  is  like.  (/I  pause.)  Pip,  what  are  '  farcy-buds '  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Hah !  Would  you  really  like  to  know  ? 
They  aren't  pretty  things. 

MRS.  G.  This  Journal  of  Veterinary  Science  says 
they  are  of  '  absorbing  interest/  Tell  me. 

CAPT.  G.     (Aside.)     It  may  turn  her  attention. 

Gives  a  long  and  designedly  loathsome  account  of 
glanders  and  farcy. 

MRS.  G.     Oh,  that's  enough.     Don't  go  on ! 

CAPT.  G.  But  you  wanted  to  know  —  Then  these 
things  suppurate  and  matterate  and  spread 

MRS.  G.  Pip,  you're  making  me  sick!  You're  a 
horrid,  disgusting  schoolboy. 

CAPT.  G.  (  On  his  knees  among  the  bridles.)  You 
asked  to  be  told.  It's  not  rny  fault  if  you  worry  me  into 
talking  about  horrors. 

MRS.  G.     Why  didn't  you  say  —  No  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Good  Heavens,  child!  Have  you  come 
in  here  simply  to  bully  me  ? 

MRS.  G.    I  bully  you?    How  could  I!     You're  so 


FATTMA  183 

strong.  (Hysterically.')  Strong  enough  to  pick  me  up 
and  put  me  outside  the  door  and  leave  me  there  to  cry. 
Aren't  you  ? 

CAPT.  G.  It  seems  to  me  that  you're  an  irrational 
little  baby.  Are  you  quite  well  ? 

MRS.  G.  Do  I  look  ill  ?  (Returning  to  table.*)  Who 
is  your  lady  friend  with  the  big  gray  envelope  and  the 
fat  monogram  outside  ? 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.')  Then  it  wasn't  locked  up,  eoa- 
found  it.  (Aloud.')  4  God  made  her,  therefore  let  her 
pass  for  a  woman.'  You  remember  what  farcy-buds  are 
like? 

MRS.  G.  (Showing  envelope.")  This  has  nothing  to 
do  with  them.  I'm  going  to  open  it.  May  I  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Certainly,  if  you  want  to.  I'd  sooner  you 
didn't,  though.  I  don't  ask  to  look  at  your  letters  to 
the  Deercourt  girl. 

MRS.  G.  You'd  letter  not,  Sir!  (Takes  letter  from 
envelope.")  Now,  may  I  look  ?  If  you  say  no,  I  shall  cry. 

CAPT.  G.  You've  never  cried  in  my  knowledge  oi 
you,  and  I  don't  believe  you  could. 

MRS.  G.  I  feel  very  like  it  to-day,  Pip.  Don't  be 
hard  on  me.  (Reads  letter.*)  It  begins  in  the  middle, 
without  any  *  Dear  Captain  Gadsby,'  or  anything.  How 
funny ! 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.*)  No,  it's  not  Dear  Captain 
Gadsby,  or  anything,  now.  How  funny ! 

MRS.  G.  What  a  strange  letter !  (Meads.")  *  And 
so  the  moth  has  come  too  near  the  candle  at  last,  and 
has  been  singed  into  —  shall  I  say  Respectability  ?  I 
congratulate  him,  and  hope  he  will  be  as  happy  as  he 
deserves  to  be.'  What  does  that  mean  ?  Is  she  con- 
gratulating you  about  our  marriage? 


1$4  FATEMA 

CAPT.  G.    Yes,  I  suppose  so. 

MRS.  G.  (Still  reading  letter.*)  She  seems  to  be  a 
particular  friend  of  yours. 

CAPT.  G.  Yes.  She  was  an  excellent  matron  of 
sorts  —  a  Mrs.  Herriott  —  wife  of  a  Colonel  Herriott. 
I  used  to  know  some  of  her  people  at  Home  long  ago 
—  before  I  came  out. 

MRS.  G.  Some  Colonels'  wives  are  young  —  as 
young  as  me.  I  knew  one  who  was  younger. 

CAPT.  G.  Then  it  couldn't  have  been  Mrs.  Herriott. 
She  was  old  enough  to  have  been  your  mother,  dear. 

MRS.  G.  I  remember  now.  Mrs.  Scargill  was  talk- 
ing about  her  at  the  Duffins'  tennis,  before  you  came 
for  me,  on  Tuesday.  Captain  Maffiin  said  she  was  a 
'  dear  old  woman.'  Do  you  know,  I  think  Mafflin  is  a 
very  clumsy  man  with  his  feet. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.')  Good  old  Jack!  (Aloud.*) 
Why,  dear  ? 

MRS.  G.  He  had  put  his  cup  down  on  the  ground 
then,  and  he  literally  stepped  into  it.  Some  of  the  tea 
spirted  over  my  dress  —  the  gray  one.  I  meant  to  tell 
you  about  it  before. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.")  There  are  the  makings  of  a 
strategist  about  Jack,  though  his  methods  are  coarse. 
(Aloud.')  You'd  better  get  a  new  dress,  then.  (Aside.*) 
Let  us  pray  that  that  will  turn  her. 

MRS.  G.  Oh,  it  isn't  stained  in  the  least.  I  only 
thought  that  I'd  tell  you.  (Returning  to  letter.*)  What 
an  extraordinary  person!  (Reads.*)  'But  need  I 
remind  you  that  you  have  taken  upon  yourself  a 
charge  of  wardship' — what  in  the  world  is  a  charge 
of  wardship  ? — '  which,  as  you  yourself  know,  may  end 
in  Consequences ' 


EATIMA  185 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.')  It's  safest  to  let  'em  see  every- 
thing as  they  come  across  it ;  but  'seems  to  me  that 
there  are  exceptions  to  the  rule.  (Aloud.')  I  told  you 
that  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  from  rearranging 
my  table. 

MRS.  G.  (Absently.')  What  does  the  woman  mean? 
She  goes  on  talking  about  Consequences  —  'almost  inevi- 
table Consequences  '  with  a  capital  C  —  for  half  a  page. 
(Flushing  scarlet.)  Oh,  good  gracious !  How  abominable ! 

CAPT.  G.  (Promptly.)  Do  you  think  so  ?  Doesn't 
it  show  a  sort  of  motherly  interest  in  us?  (Aside.) 
Thank  Heaven,  Harry  always  wrapped  her  meaning 
up  safely  !  (Aloud.)  Is  it  absolutely  necessary  to  go 
on  with  the  letter,  darling  ? 

MRS.  G.  It's  impertinent — it's  simply  horrid.  What 
right  has  this  woman  to  write  in  this  way  to  you  ?  She 
oughtn't  to. 

CAPT.  G.  When  you  write  to  the  Deercourt  girl,  I 
notice  that  you  generally  fill  three  or  four  sheets.  Can't 
you  let  an  old  woman  babble  on  paper  once  in  a  way  ? 
She  means  well. 

MRS.  G.  I  don't  care.  She  shouldn't  write,  and  if 
she  did,  you  ought  to  have  shown  me  her  letter. 

CAPT.  G.  Can't  you  understand  why  I  kept  it  to 
myself,  or  must  I  explain  at  length  —  as  I  explained  the 
farcy-buds  ? 

MRS.  G.  (Furiously.')  Pip,  I  hate  you  !  This  is  us 
bad  as  those  idiotic  saddle-bags  on  the  floor.  jSovjr 
mind  whether  it  would  please  me  or  not,  you  ought  to 
have  given  it  to  me  to  read. 

CAPT.  G.  It  comes  to  the  same  thing.  You  took  it 
yourself. 

MRS.  G.     Yes,  but  if  I  hadn't  taken  it,  you  wouldn't 


186  FATIMA 

have  said  a  word.     I  think  this  Harriet  Herriott  —  it's 
like  a  name  in  a  book  —  is  an  interfering  old  Thing. 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.}  So  long  as  you  thoroughly 
understand  that  she  is  old,  I  don't  much  care  what  you 
think.  (Aloud.}  Very  good,  dear.  Would  you  like  to 
write  and  tell  her  so  ?  She's  seven  thousand  miles  away. 

MRS.  G.  I  don't  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
her,  but  you  ought  to  have  told  me.  (Turning  to  last 
page  of  letter.}  And  she  patronises  me,  too.  J've  never 
seen  her !  (Reads.}  '  I  do  not  know  how  the  world 
stands  with  you ;  in  all  human  probability  I  shall  never 
know ;  but  whatever  I  may  have  said  before,  I  pray  for 
her  sake  more  than  for  yours  that  all  may  be  well.  I 
have  learnt  what  misery  means,  and  I  dare  not  wish 
that  any  one  dear  to  you  should  share  my  knowledge.' 

CAPT.  G.  Good  God !  Can't  you  leave  that  letter 
alone,  or,  at  least,  can't  you  refrain  from  reading  it 
aloud?  I've  been  through  it  once.  Put  it  back  on  the 
desk.  Do  you  hear  me  ? 

MRS.  G.  (Irresolutely.}  I  sh — shan't !  (Looks  at 
G.'s  eyes.}  Oh,  Pip,  please!  I  didn't  mean  to  make 
you  angry  —  'Deed,  I  didn't.  Pip,  I'm  so  sorry.  I 
know  I've  wasted  your  time 

CAPT.  G.  (Grimly.}  You  have.  Now,  will  you  be 
good  enough  to  go  —  if  there  is  nothing  more  in  my 
room  that  you  are  anxious  to  pry  into  ? 

MRS.  G.  (Putting  out  her  hands.}  Oh,  Pip,  don't 
look  at  me  like  that!  I've  never  seen  you  look  like 
that  before  and  it  hu-urts  me !  I'm  sorry.  I  oughtn't 
to  have  been  here  at  all,  and  —  and  —  and  —  (sobbing}. 
Oh,  be  good  to  me !  Be  good  to  me !  There's  only 
you  —  anywhere ! 

Breaks  down  in  long  chair,  hiding  face  in  cushions. 


FATIMA  187 

CAPT.  G.  (Aside.)  She  doesn't  know  how  she 
flicked  me  on  the  raw.  (Aloud,  bending  over  chair.) 
I  didn't  mean  to  be  harsh,  dear  —  I  didn't  really.  You 
can  stay  here  as  long  as  you  please,  and  do  what  you 
please.  Don't  cry  like  that.  You'll  make  yourself 
sick.  (Aside.)  What  on  earth  has  come  over  her? 
(Aloud.)  Darling,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ? 

MRS.  G.  (Her face  still  hidden.)  Let  me  go  —  let 
me  go  to  my  own  room.  Only  —  only  say  you  aren't 
angry  with  me. 

CAPT.  G.     Angry  with  you,  love  !     Of  course  not.     I 
was  angry  with  myself.     I'd  lost  my  temper  over  the  sad- 
dlery— Don't  hide  your  face,  Pussy.     I  want  to  kiss  it. 
Bends  lower,  MRS.  G.  slides  right  arm  round  his 
neck.     Several  interludes  and  much  sobbing. 

MRS.  G.  (In  a  whisper,)  I  didn't  mean  about  the 
jam  when  I  came  in  to  tell  you  — 

CAPT.  G.  Bother  the  jam  and  the  equipment! 
(Interlude.) 

MRS.  G.  (/Still  more  faintly,)  My  finger  wasn't 
scalded  at  all.  I  —  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about 
—  about  —  something  else,  and  —  I  didn't  know  how. 

CAPT.  G.  Speak  away,  then.  (Looking  into  her 
eyes.)  Eh !  Wha — at  ?  Minnie !  Here,  don't  go 
away!  You  don't  mean? 

MRS.  G.  (Hysterically,  backing  to  portiere  and  hid- 
ing herfacs  in  its  folds.)  The  —  the  Almost  Inevitable 
Consequences !  (Flits  though  portiere  as  G.  attempts 
to  catch  her,  and  bolts  herself  hi  her  own  room.) 

CAPT.  G.     (His  arms  full  of  portiere.)     Oh !     (Sit- 
ing down  heavily  in  chair.)     I'm  a  brute  —  a  pig  —  a 
bully,  and  a  blackguard.     My  poor,  poor  little  darling! 
Made  to  be  amused  only ?  ' 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW 

Knowing  Good  and  Evil. 

SCENE.  —  The  GADSBYS'  bungalow  in  the  Plains,  in  June. 
Punkah-coolies  asleep  in  veranda  where  CAPTAIN 
GADSBY  is  walking  up  and  down.  DOCTOR'S  trap 
in  porch.  JUNIOR  CHAPLAIN  drifting  generally  and 
uneasily  through  the  house.  Time,  *.40  A.M.  Heat 
94°  in  veranda. 

DOCTOR.  (Coming  into  veranda  and  touching  G. 
or?-  the  shoulder.*)  You  had  better  go  in  and  see  her 
now. 

CAPT.  G.  (The  colour  of  good  cigar-ash.}  Eh, 
wha-at?  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  What  did  you  say? 

DOCTOR.  (Syllable  by  syllable.}  Go  —  in  —  to  — 
the  —  room  —  and  —  see  —  her.  She  wants  to  speak 
to  you.  (Aside,  testily.}  I  shall  have  him  on  my 
hands  next. 

JUNIOR  CHAPLAIN.  (In  half-lighted  dining-room.} 
Isn't  there  any ? 

DOCTOR.-     (Savagely.}     Hsh,  you  little  fool! 

JUNIOR  CHAPLAIN.  Let  me  do  my  work.  Gadsby, 
stop  a  minute!  (Edges  after  G.) 

DOCTOR.  Wait  till  she  sends  for  you  at  least  —  at 
least.  Man  alive,  he'll  kill  you  if  you  go  in  there  T 
What  are  you  bothering  him  for? 

JUNIOR  CHAPLAIN.     (Coming  into   veranda,}      J'vt 

188 


THE  "VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW        189 

given  him  a  stiff  brandy-peg.  He  wants  it.  You've 
forgotten  him  for  the  last  ten  hours  and  —  forgotten 
yourself  too. 

G.  enters  bedroom,  which  is  lit  by  one  night-lamp. 
Ayah  on  the  floor  pretending  to  be  asleep. 

VOICE.     (From  the  bed.~)     All   down   the   street  - 
such  bonfires  !    Ayah,  go  and  put  them  out !     (Appeal- 
ingly.~)     How  can  I  sleep  with  an  installation  of  the 
C.I.E.  in  my  room?      No  —  not  C.I.E.      Something 
else.      What  was  it? 

CAPT.  G.  (Trying  to  control  his  voice. )  Minnie,  I'm 
here.  (Bending  over  bed.)  Don't  you  know  me,  Min- 
nie ?  It's  me  —  it's  Phil  —  it's  your  husband. 

VOICE.  (Mechanically.')  It's  me  —  it's  Phil — it's 
your  husband. 

CAPT.  G.  She  doesn't  know  me  !  —  It's  your  own 
husband,  darling. 

VOICE.     Your  own  husband,  darling. 

AYAH.  (With  an  inspiration.)  Memsahib  under- 
standing all  /  saying. 

CAPT.  G.     Make  her  understand  me  then  —  quick  ! 

AYAH.  (Hand  on  MBS.  G.'s  forehead. )  Memsahib! 
Captain  Sahib  here. 

VOICE.  Salam  do.  (Fretfully.}  I  know  I'm  not 
fit  to  be  seen- 

AYAH.  (Aside  to  G.)  Say  '•marneen'1  same  as 
breakfash. 

CAPT.  G,  Good -morning,  little  woman.  How  are 
we  to-day  ? 

VOICE.  That's  Phil.  Poor  old  Phil.  (Viciously.) 
Phil,  you  fool,  I  can't  see  you.  Come  nearer. 

CAPT.  G.     Minnie!     Minnie  I     It's  me  —  you  know 


me 


190  THE   VALLEY  OF  THE   SHADOW 

VOICE.  (Mockingly.*)  Of  course  I  do.  Who  does 
not  know  the  man  who  was  so  cruel  to  his  wife  — 
almost  the  only  one  he  ever  had  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Yes,  dear.  Yes  —  of  course,  of  course. 
But  won't  you  speak  to  him  ?  He  wants  to  speak  to 
you  so  much. 

VOICE.  They'd  never  let  him  in.  The  Doctor  would 
give  darwaza  bund  even  if  he  were  in  the  house.  He'll 
never  come.  (Despairingly. )  O  Judas!  Judas!  Judas  I 

CAPT.  G.  (Putting  out  his  arms.)  They  have  let 
him  in,  and  he  always  was  in  the  house.  Oh,  my 
love  —  don't  you  know  me  ? 

VOICE.  (In  a  half  chant.)  '  And  it  came  to  pass  at 
the  eleventh  hour  that  this  poor  soul  repented.'  It 
knocked  at  the  gates,  but  they  were  shut  —  tight  as  a 
plaster  —  a  great,  burning  plaster.  They  had  pasted 
our  marriage  certificate  all  across  the  door,  and  it  was 
made  of  red-hot  iron — people  really  ought  to  be  more 
careful,  you  know. 

CAPT.  G.  What  am  I  to  do?  (Takes  her  in  his 
arms.)  Minnie!  speak  to  me  —  to  Phil. 

VOICE.  What  shall  I  say  ?  Oh,  tell  me  what  to  say 
before  it's  too  late  !  They  are  all  going  away  and  I 
can't  say  anything. 

CAPT.  G.  Say  you  know  me  !  Only  say  you  know 
me  ! 

DOCTOR.  (Who  has  entered  quietly.)  For  pity's 
sake  don't  take  it  too  much,  to  heart,  Gadsby.  It's 
this  way  sometimes.  They  won't  recognise.  They 
say  all  sorts  of  queer  things  —  don't  you  see  f 

CAPT.  G.  All  right!  All  right!  Go  away  now ; 
she'll  recognise  me  ;  you're  bothering  her.  She  must 
—  mustn't  she  ? 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW        191 

DOCTOR.     She  will  before Have  I  your  leave 

to  try ? 

CAPT.  G.  Anything  you  please,  so  long  as  she'll 
know  me.  It's  only  a  question  of  —  hours,  isn't  it? 

DOCTOR.  (Professionally.}  While  there's  life  there's 
hope,  y'know.  But  don't  build  on  it. 

CAPT.  G.  I  don't.  Pull  her  together  if  it's  possible. 
(Aside.}  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  this  ? 

DOCTOR.  (Bending  over  bed.}  Now,  Mrs.  Gadsby! 
We  shall  be  all  right  to-morrow.  You  must  take  it,  or 
I  shan't  let  Phil  see  you.  It  isn't  nasty,  is  it  ? 

VOICE.  Medicines!  Always  more  medicines!  Can't 
you  leave  me  alone  ? 

CAPT.  G.     Oh,  leave  her  in  peace,  Doc  ! 

DOCTOR.  (Stepping  back,  —  aside.*)  May  I  be  for- 
given if  I've  done  wrong.  (Aloud.}  In  a  few  minutes 
she  ought  to  be  sensible  ;  but  I  daren't  tell  you  to 
look  for  anything.  It's  only 

CAPT.  G.    What?     Go  ow,  man. 

DOCTOR.     (In  a  whisper.}     Forcing  the  last  rally. 

CAPT.  G.      Then  leave  us  alone. 

DOCTOR.  Don't  mind  what  she  says  at  first,  if  you 
can.  They  —  they  —  they  turn  against  those  they  love 
most  sometimes  in  this.  —  It's  hard,  but 

CAPT.  G.  Am  I  her  husband  or  are  you  ?  Leave 
us  alone  for  what  time  we  have  together. 

VOICE.  (Confidentially.')  And  we  were  engaged 
quite  suddenly,  Emma.  I  assure  you  that  I  never 
thought  of  it  for  a  moment ;  but,  oh,  my  little  Me  ! 
—  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  if  he 
hadn't  proposed. 

CAPT.  G.  She  thinks  of  that  Deer  court  girl  before 
she  thinks  of  me.  (Aloud.}  Minnie  ! 


192  THE   VALLEY  OF  THE   SHADOW 

VOICE.  Not  from  the  shops,  Mummy  dear.  You 
can  get  the  real  leaves  from  Kaintu,  and  (laughing 
weakly}  never  mind  about  the  blossoms  —  Dead  white 
silk  is  only  fit  for  widows,  and  I  won't  wear  it.  It's  as 
bad  as  a  winding  sheet.  (A  long  pause.} 

CAPT.  G  I  never  asked  a  favour  yet.  If  there  is 
anybody  to  listen  to  me,  let  her  know  me  —  even  if  I 
die  too ! 

VOICE.     (Very  faintly.}     Pip,  Pip  dear, 

CAPT.  G.     I'm  here,  darling. 

VOICE.  What  has  happened  ?  They've  been  bother- 
ing me  so  with  medicines  and  things,  and  they  wouldn't 
let  you  come  and  see  me.  I  was  never  ill  before  Am 
I  ill  now? 

CAPT.  G.     You  —  you  aren't  quite  well. 

VOICE.     How  funny!     Have  I  been  ill  long? 

CAPT.  G.  Some  days ;  but  you'll  be  all  right  in  a 
little  time. 

VOICE.  Do  you  think  so,  Pip  ?  I  don't  feel  well 
and  —  Oh !  what  have  they  done  to  my  hair  ? 

CAPT.  G.     I  d-d-don't  know. 

VOICE.     They've  cut  it  off.     What  a  shame ! 

CAPT.  G,  It  must  have  been  to  make  your  head 
cooler. 

VOICE.    '  Just  like  a  boy's  wig.    Don't  I  look  horrid  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Never  looked  prettier  in  your  life,  dear. 
(Aside.*)  How  am  I  to  ask  her  to  say  good-bye? 

VOICE.  I  don't  feel  pretty.  I  feel  very  ill.  My 
heart  won't  work.  It's  nearly  dead  inside  me,  and 
there's  a  funny  feeling  in  my  eyes.  Everything  seems 
the  same  distance  —  you  and  the  almirah  and  the  table 
—  inside  my  eyes  or  miles  away,  What  does  it  mean, 
Pip? 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW        193 

CAPT.  G.  You're  a  little  feverish,  Sweetheart  — 
very  feverish.  (Breaking  down.')  My  love  !  my  love  ! 
How  can  I  let  you  go  ? 

VOICE.  I  thought  so.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
that  at  first? 

CAPT.  G.     What? 

VOICE.     That  I  am  going  to  —  die. 

CAPT.  G.     But  you  aren't !     You  shan't. 

AYAH  to  punkah-coolie.  (Stepping  into  veranda  after 
a  glance  at  the  bed.}  Punkah  chor  do  !  (  Stop  pulling 
the  punkah.) 

VOICE,  It's  hard,  Pip.  So  very,  very  hard  after 
one  year  —  just  one  year.  (Wailing.}  And  I'm  only 
twenty.  Most  girls  aren't  even-  married  at  twenty. 
Can't  they  do  anything  to  help  me  ?  I  don't  want  to 
die. 

CAPT.  G.     Hush,  dear.     You  won't. 

VOICE.  What's  the  use  of  talking  ?  Help  me ! 
You've  never  failed  me  yet.  Oh,  Phil,  help  me  to 
keep  alive.  (Feverishly .}  I  don't  believe  you  wish 
me  to  live.  You  weren't  a  bit  sorry  when  that  horrid 
Baby  thing  died.  I  wish  I'd  killed  it ! 

CAPT-  G.  (Drawing  his  hand  across  his  forehead.} 
It's  more  than  a  man's  meant  to  bear  —  it's  not  right. 
(Aloud.}  Minnie,  love,  I'd  die  for  you  if  it  would  help. 

VOICE.  No  more  death.  There's  enough  already. 
Pip,  don't  you  die  too. 

CAPT-  G.     I  wish  I  dared. 

VOICE.  It  says  :  '  Till  Death  do  us  part. '  Nothing 
after  that  —  and  so  it  would  be  no  use.  It  stops  at 
the  dying.  Wliy  does  it  stop  there?  Only  such  a 
very  short  life,  too.  Pip,  I'm  sorry  we  married. 

CAPT.  G.     No  !     Anything  but  that,  Min  ! 


194  THE  VALLEY  OP   THE   SHADOW 

VOICE  Because  you'll  forget  and  I'll  forget.  Oh, 
Pip,  don't  forget  !  I  always  loved  you,  though  I  was 
cross  sometimes.  If  I  ever  did  anything  that  you 
didn't  like,  say  you  forgive  me  now. 

CAPT.  G.  You  never  did,  darling.  On  my  soul 
and  honour  you  never  did,  I  haven't  a  thing  to 
forgive  you. 

VOICE.  I  sulked  for  a  whole  week  about  those 
petunias.  (With  a  laugh.}  What  a  little  wretch  I 
was,  and  how  grieved  you  were  t  Forgive  me  that, 
Pip. 

CAPT.  G.  There's  nothing  to  forgive.  It  was  my 
fault.  They  were  too  near  the  drive.  For  God's  sake 
don't  talk  so,  Minnie  !  There's  such  a  lot  to  say  and 
so  little  time  to  say  it  in. 

VOICE.  Say  that  you'll  always  love  me . —  until  the 
end. 

CAPT.  G.  Until  the  end.  (Carried  away,*)  It's  a 
lie.  It  must  be,  because  we've  loved  each  other.  This 
isn't  the  end. 

VOICE.  (Relapsing  into  semi-delirium.*)  My  Churcli- 
service  has  an  ivory-cross  on  the  back,  and  it  says  so, 
so  it  must  be  true.  'Till  Death  do  us  part.'  —  But 
that's  a  lie.  (With  a  parody  of  G.'s  manner.*)  A 
damned  lie  !  (Recklessly,*)  Yes,  I  can  swear  as  well 
as  Trooper  Pip,  I  can't  make  my  head  think,  though. 
That's  because  they  cut  off  my  hair.  How  can  one 
think  with  one's  head  all  fuzzy  ?  (Pleadingly.*)  Hold 
me,  Pip!  Keep  me  with  you  always  and  always. 
(Relapsing.*)  But  if  you  marry  the  Thorniss  girl 
wlien  I'm  dead,  I'll  come  back  and  howl  under  our 
bedroom  window  all  night.  Oh,  bother  !  You'll  think 
I'm  a  jackal.  Pip,  what  time  is  it  ? 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW        195 

CAPT.  G.     A  little  before  the  dawn,  dear. 

VOICE.  I  wonder  where  I  shall  be  this  time  to- 
morrow ? 

CAPT.  G.     Would  you  like  to  see  the  Padre  ? 

VOICE.  Why  should  I?  He'd  tell  me  that  I  am 
going  to  heaven;  and  that  wouldn't  be  true,  because 
you  are  here.  Do  you  recollect  when  he  upset  the 
cream -ice  all  over  his  trousers  at  the  Gassers' 
tennis  ? 

CAPT.  G.     Yes,  dear. 

VOICE.  I  often  wondered  whether  he  got  another 
pair  of  trousers  j  but  then  his  are  so  shiny  all  over 
that  you  really  couldn't  tell  unless  you  were  told. 
Let's  call  him  in  and  ask. 

CAPT.  G.  (Gravely.*)  No.  I  don't  think  he'd  like 
that.  *Your  head  comfy,  Sweetheart  ? 

VOICE.  (Faintly  with  a  sigh  of  contentment. )  Yeth! 
Gracious,  Pip,  when  did  you  shave  last?  Your  chin's 
worse  than  the  barrel  of  a  musical  box.  —  No,  don't 
lift  it  up.  1  like  it.  (A  pause.*)  You  said  you've 
never  cried  at  all.  You're  crying  all  over  my  cheek. 

CAPT.  G.     I  —  I  —  I  can't  help  it,  dear. 

VOICE.  How  funny !  I  couldn't  cry  now  to  save 
my  life.  (G.  shivers.*)  I  want  to  sing. 

CAPT.  G.     Won't  it  tire  you?     'Better  not,  perhaps. 

VOICE.  Why  ?  I  won't  be  bothered  about.  (Begins 
in  a  hoarse  quaver)  :  — 

'  Minnie  bakes  oaten  cake,  Minnie  brews  ale, 
All  because  her  Johnnie's  coming  home  from  the  sea. 
(That's  parade,  Pip.) 

And  she  grows  red  as  rose,  who  was  so  pale ; 
And  "  Are  you  sure  the  church-clock  goes?"  says  sin,'.' 

(Pettishly.')     I  kne\v  I  couldn't  take  the  la,.st  note 


196  THE   VALLEY   OF  THE   SHADOW 

How  do  the  bass  chords  run  ?     {Puts  out  her  hands  and 
begins  playing  piano  on  the  sheet.') 

CAPT.  G.  {Catching  up  hands.")  Ahh!  Don't  do 
that,  Pussy,  if  you  love  me. 

VOICE.  Love  you?  Of  course  I  do.  Who  else 
should  it  be?  {A  pause.) 

VOICE.     (  Very  clearly.)     Pip,  I'm  going  now.    Some 
thing's  choking  me  cruelly.     {Indistinctly.)     Into  the 
dark  —  without  you,  my  heart.  —  But  it's  a  lie,  dear  — 
we  mustn't  believe  it.  —  For  ever  and  ever,  living  or 
dead.     Don't  let  me  go,  my  husband  —  hold  me  tight. 
—  They  can't  —  whatever  happens.     {A   cough.)     Pip 
— my  Pip !    Not  for  always — and — so — soon  I    (  Voice 
ceases.) 

Pause  of  ten  minutes.  G.  buries  his  face  in  the 
side  of  the  bed  while  AYAH  bends  over  bed  from 
opposite  side  and  feels  MRS.  G.'s  breast  and 
forehead. 

CAPT.  G.    {Rising.)     Doctor  Sahib  ko  salaam  do. 

AYAH.  {Still  by  bedside,  with  a  shriek.)  Ail  Ai ! 
Tuta  — phuta  !  My  Memsahib  !  Not  getting  —  not  have 
got !  —  Pusseena  agya  !  (The  sweat  has  come.)  {Fiercely 
to  G.)  TUM  jao  Doctor  Sahib  ko  jaldi  !  { You  go  to 
the  doctor.)  Oh,  my  Memsahib  ! 

DOCTOR.     {Entering  hastily.)     Come  away,  Gadsby. 
{Bends   over   bed.)     Eh !     The    Dev  —  What    inspired 
you  to  stop  the  punkah  ?     Get  out,  man  —  go  away  - 
wait  outside  I     Cro  !     Here,  Ayah  !     (  Over  his  shoulder 
to  G.)     Mind,  I  promise  nothing. 

The  dawn  breaks  as  G.  stumbles  into  the  garden. 

CAPT.  M.  {Reining  up  at  the  gate  on  his  way  to 
parade  and  very  soberly.)  Old  man,  how  goes? 

CAPT.  G.     {Dazed.)     I  don't   quite  know.     Stay  a 


THE   VALLEY  OF  THE   SHADOW  197 

bit.     Have  a  drink  or  something.     Don't  run  away. 
You're  just  getting  amusing.     Ha !     Ha ! 

CAPT.  M.  (Aside.)  What  am  I  let  in  for  ?  Gaddy 
has  aged  ten  years  in  the  night. 

CAPT.  G.  (Slowly,  fingering  charger's  headstall.') 
Your  curb's  too  loose. 

CAPT.  M.  So  it  is.  Put  it  straight,  will  you? 
(Aside.)  I  shall  be  late  for  parade.  Poor  Gaddy. 

CAPT.  G.  links  and  unlinks  curb-chain  aimlessly, 
and  finally  stands  staring  toivards  the  veranda. 
Tfie  day  brightens. 

DOCTOR.  (Knocked  out  ofprofessional  gravity,  tramp- 
ing across  flower-beds  and  shaking  G.'s  hands.")  It's  — 
it's  —  it's !  —  Gadsby,  there's  a  fair  chance  —  a  dashed 
fair  chance !  The  flicker,  y'know.  The  sweat,  y'know ! 
I  saw  how  it  would  be.  The  punkah,  y'know.  Deuced 
clever  woman  that  Ayah  of  yours.  Stopped  the  punkah 
just  at  the  right  time.  A  dashed  good  chance  !  No  — 
you  don't  go  in.  We'll  pull  her  through  yet  I  promise 
on  my  reputation  —  under  Providence.  Send  a  man 
with  this  note  to  Bingle.  Two  heads  better  than  one. 
'Specially  the  Ayah !  We'll  pull  her  round.  (Retreats 
hastily  to  house.) 

CAPT.  G.  (His  head  on  neck  of  M.'s  charger.)  Jack  f 
I  bub  —  bub  —  believe,  I'm  going  to  make  a  bub  —  bub 
—  bloody  exhibitiod  of  byself . 

CAPT.  M.  (Sniffing  openly  and  feeling  in  his  left 
cuff.)  I  b-b — believe,  I'b  doing  it  already.  Old  bad, 
what  cad  I  say  ?  I'b  as  pleased  as  —  Cod  dab  you, 
Gaddy !  You're  one  big  idiot  and  I'b  adother.  (Pull- 
ing himself  together.)  Sit  tight !  Here  comes  the 
Devil-dodger. 

JUNIOR  CHAPLAIN.     (Who  is  not  in  the   Doctor's 


198  THE  VALLEY   OF  THE   SHADOW 

confidence.')  We —  we  are  only  men  in  these  things, 
Gadsby.  I  know  that  I  can  say  nothing  now  to 
help 

CAPT.  M.  (Jealously.}  Then  donV  say  it!  Leave 
him  alone.  It's  not  bad  enough  to  cro,\k  over.  Here, 
Gaddy,  take  the  chit  to  Bingle  and  ride  hell-for-leather. 
It'll  do  you  good.  I  can't  go. 

JUNIOR  CHAPLAIN.  Do  him  good !  (Smiling.')  Give 
me  the  chit  and  I'll  drive.  Let  him  lie  down.  Your 
horse  is  blocking  my  cart  —  please  ! 

CAPT.  M.  (Slowly  without  reining  back.}  I  beg 
your  pardon  —  I'll  apologise.  On  paper  if  you  like. 

JUNIOR  CHAPLAIN.  (Flicking  M.'s  charger.}  That'll 
do,  thanks.  Turn  in,  Gadsby,  and  I'll  bring  Bingle 
back  —  ahem  — '  hell-for-leather.' 

CAPT.  M.  (Solus.}  It  would  have  served  me  right 
if  he'd  cut  me  across  the  face.  He  can  drive  too.  I 
shouldn't  care  to  go  that  pace  in  a  bamboo  cart.  What 
a  faith  he  must  have  in  his  Maker —  of  harness  !  Come 
hup,  you  brute !  ( Gallops  off  to  parade,  blowing  his 
nose,  as  the  sun  rises} 

(INTERVAL  OP  FIVE  WEEKS.) 

MRS.  G.  (Very  ivhite  and  pinched,  in  morning  wrap- 
per at  breakfast  table.}  How  big  and  strange  the  room 
looks,  and  oh  how  glad  I  am  to  see  it  again !  What 
dust,  though !  I  must  talk  to  the  servants.  Sugar, 
Pip?  I've  almost  forgotten.  (Seriously.}  Wasn't  I 
very  ill  ? 

CAPT.  G.  Iller  than  I  liked.  (Tenderly.}  Oh,  you 
bad  little  Pussy,  what  a  start  you  gave  me  ! 

MRS.  G.     I'll  never  do  it  again. 

CAPT.  G.     You'd  better  not.     And  now  get   those 


THE   VALLEY   OF   THE   SHADOW  199 

poor  pale  cheeks  pink  again,  or  I  shall  be  angry.  Don't 
try  to  lift  the  urn.  You'll  upset  it.  W.nt.  (Comes 
round  to  head  of  table  and  lifts  urn.} 

MRS.  G.  (Quickly.}  Khitmatgar,  bowarchi-Jchana 
see  ketily  lao.  Butler,  get  a  kettle  from  the  cook-house. 
(Drawing  dawn  G.'s  face  to  her  own.}  Pip  dear,  1 
remember. 

CAPT.  G.    What? 

MRS.  G.     That  last  terrible  night. 

CAPT.  G.     Then  just  you  forget  all  about  it. 

MBS.  G.  (Softly,  her  eyes  filling.')  Never.  It  has 
brought  us  very  close  together,  my  husband.  There ! 
(Interlude.}  I'm  going  to  give  Junda  a  saree. 

CAPT.  G.     I  gave  her  fifty  dibs. 

MRS.  G.  So  she  told  me.  It  was  a'normous  reward. 
Was  I  worth  it?  (/Several  interludes}  Don't  I  Here's 
the  khitmatyar.  —  Two  lumps  or  one,  Sir  ? 


THE  SWELLING  OF  JORDAN 

If  thou  bast  run  with  the  footmen  and  they  have  wearied  thee, 
then  how  canst  thou  contend  with  horses?  And  if  in  the  land  of 
peace  wherein  thou  trustedst  they  wearied  tuee,  then  how  wilt  thou 
do  in  the  swelling  of  Jordan  ? 

SCENE.  —  Tlie  GADSBYS'  bungalow  in  the  Plains^  on  a 
January  morning.  Mils.  G.  arguing  with  bearer  in 
back  veranda. 

CAPT.  M.  rides  up. 

CAPT.  M.  'Mornin',  Mrs.  Gadsby.  How's  the  Infant 
Phenomenon  and  the  Proud  Proprietor  ? 

MBS.  G.  You'll  find  them  in  the  front  veranda  go 
through  the  house.  I'm  Martha  just  now. 

CAPT.  M.  'Cumbered  about  with  cares  of  khitmat 
gars  ?  I  fly. 

Passes  into  front  veranda,  where  GADSBY  is  watch- 
ing GADSBY  JUNIOR,  aged  ten  months,  crawling 
about  the  matting, 

GAPT.  M.  What's  the  trouble,  Gaddy  —  spoiling  an 
honest  man's  Europe  morning  this  way?  {Seeing  G. 
JUNIOR.)  By  Jove,  that  yearling's  comin'  on  amazingly ! 
Any  amount  of  bone  below  the  knee  there. 

CAPT.  G.  Yes,  he's  a  healthy  little  scoundrel.  Don't 
you  think  his  hair's  growing  ? 

M.  Let's  have  a  look.  Hi!  Hst!  Come  here, 
General  Luck,  and  we'll  report  on  you. 

MRS.  G.  {Within.')  What  absurd  name  will  yor> 
give  him  next?  Why  do  you  call  him  that? 

200 


THE   SWELLING  OF  JORDAN  201 

M.  Isn't  he  our  Inspector-General  of  Cavalry? 
Doesn't  he  come  down  in  his  seventeen-tvvo  peram- 
bulator every  morning  the  Pink  Hussars  parade  ?  Don't 
wriggle,  Brigadier.  Give  us  your  private  opinion  on 
the  way  the  third  squadron  went  past.  'Trifle  ragged, 
weren't  they? 

G.  A  bigger  set  of  tailors  than  the  new  draft  I  don't 
wish  to  see.  They've  given  me  more  than  my  fair 
share — knocking  the  squadron  out  of  shape.  It's 
sickening ! 

M.  When  you're  in  command,  you'll  do  better, 
young  'un.  Can't  you  walk  yet  ?  Grip  my  finger  and 
try.  (ZbG.)  'Twon't  hurt  his  hocks,  will  it? 

G.  Oh,  no.  Don't  let  him  flop,  though,  or  he'll  lick 
all  the  blacking  off  your  boots. 

MRS.  G.  (Within.')  Who's  destroying  my  son's 
character? 

M.  And  my  Godson's.  I'm  ashamed  of  you,  Gaddy. 
Punch  your  father  in  the  eye,  Jack !  Don't  you  stand 
it !  Hit  him  again ! 

G.  (Sotto  voce.~)  Put  The  Butcha  down  and  come 
to  the  end  of  the  veranda.  I'd  rather  the  Wife  didn't 
hear  -  -  just  now. 

M.     You  look  awf 'ly  serious.     Anything  wrong  ? 

G.  'Depends  on  your  view  entirely.  I  say,  Jack, 
you  -won't  think  more  hardly  of  me  than  you  can  help, 
will  you?  Come  further  this  way.  —  The  fact  of  the 
matter  is,  that  I've  made  up  my  mind — at  least  I'm 
thinking  seriously  of  —  cutting  the  Service. 

M.     Hwhatt? 

Gr.     Don't  shout.     I'm  going  to  send  in  my  papers. 

M.     You !     Are  you  mad  ? 

G,     No  —  only  married. 


202  THE  SWELLING  OF  JORDAN 

M.  Look  here  !  What's  the  meaning  of  it  all  ?  You 
never  intend  to  leave  us.  You  can't.  Isn't  the  best 
squadron  of  the  best  regiment  of  the  best  cavalry  in  all 
the  world  good  enough  for  you  ? 

G.  (Jerking  his  head  over  his  shoulder.)  She  doesn't 
seem  to  thrive  in  this  God-forsaken  country,  and  there's 
The  ButcJia  to  be  considered  and  all  that,  you  know. 

M.     Does  she  say  that  she  doesn't  like  India  ? 

G.  That's  the  worst  of  it.  She  won't  for  fear  of 
leaving  me. 

M.     What  are  the  Hills  made  for  ? 

G.     Not  for  my  wife,  at  any  rate. 

M.  You  know  too  much,  Gaddy,  and  —  I  don't  like 
you  any  the  better  for  it  \ 

G.  Never  mind  that.  She  wants  England,  and  The 
ButcJia  would  be  all  the  better  for  it.  I'm  going  to 
chuck.  You  don't  understand. 

M.  (Hotly-~)  I  understand  this.  One  hundred  and 
thirty-seven  new  horses  to  be  licked  into  shape  somehow 
before  Luck  comes  round  again  ;  a  hairy-heeled  draft 
who'll  give  more  trouble  than  the  horses  ;  a  camp  next 
cold  weather  for  a  certainty ;  ourselves  the  first  on  the 
roster ;  the  Russian  shindy  ready  to  come  to  a  head  at 
five  minutes'  notice,  and  you,  the  best  of  us  all,  back 
ing  out  of  it  all!  Think  a  little,  Gaddy.  You  won't 
do  it. 

G.  Hang  it,  a  man  has  some  duties  towards  his 
family,  I  suppose.- 

M.  I  remember  a  man,  though,  who  told  me,  the 
night  after  Amdheran,  when  we  were  picketed  under 
Jagai,  and  he'd  left  his  sword  —  by  the  way,  did  you 
ever  pay  Ran  ken  for  that  sword?' — in  an  Utmanzai's 
head  —  that  man  told  me  that  he'd  stick  by  me  and  the 


THE  SWELLING  OF  JORDAN  208 

Pinks  as  long  as  he  lived.  I  don't  blame  him  for  not 
sticking  by  me  —  I'm  not  much  of  a  man  —  but  I  do 
blame  him  for  not  sticking  by  the  Pink  Hussars. 

G.  (Uneasily. .)  We  were  little  more  than  boys 
then.  Can't  you  see,  Jack,  how  things  stand  ?  'Tisn't 
as  if  we  were  serving  for  our  bread.  We've  all  of  us, 
more  or  less,  got  the  filthy  lucre.  I'm  luckier  than 
some,  perhaps.  There's  no  call  for  me  to  serve  on. 

M.  None  in  the  world  for  you  or  for  us,  except  the 
Regimental.  If  you  don't  choose  to  answer  to  that,  of 
course 

G.  Don't  be  too  hard  on  a  man.  You  know  that  a 
lot  of  us  only  take  up  the  thing  for  a  few  years  and 
then  go  back  to  Town  and  catch  on  with  the  rest. 

M.     Not  lots,  and  they  aren't  some  of  Us. 

G.  And  then  there  are  one's  affairs  at  Home  to  be 
considered  —  my  place  and  the  rents,  and  all  that.  I 
don't  suppose  my  father  can  last  much  longer,  and  that 
means  the  title,  and  so  on. 

M.  'Fraid  you  wont  be  entered  in  the  Stud  Book 
correctly  unless  you  go  Home  ?  Take  six  months,  then, 
and  come  out  in  October.  If  I  could  slay  off  a  brother 
or  two,  I  s'pose  I  should  be  a  Marquis  of  sorts.  Any 
fool  can  be  that ;  but  it  needs  men,  Gaddy  —  men  like 
you  —  to  lead  flanking  squadrons  properly.  Don't  you 
delude  yourself  into  the  belief  that  you're  going  Home 
to  take  your  place  and  prance  about  among  pink-nosed 
Kabuli  dowagers.  You  aren't  built  that  way.  I  know 
better. 

G.  A  man  has  a  right  to  live  his  life  as  happily  as 
he  can.  You  aren't  married. 

M.  No  —  praise  be  to  Providence  and  the  one  or 
two  women  who  have  had  the  <:no;l  sense  to  jaioab  me. 


204  THE   SWELLING  OF  JORDAN 

G.  Then  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  go  into  your 
own  room  and  see  your  wife's  head  on  the  pillow,  and 
when  everything  else  is  safe  and  the  house  shut  up  for 
the  night,  to  wonder  whether  the  roof-beams  won't  give 
and  kill  her. 

M.  (Aside.)  Revelations  first  and  second !  (Aloud.*) 
So-o !  I  knew  a  man  who  got  squiffy  at  our  Mess  once 
and  confided  to  me  that  he  never  helped  his  wife  on  to 
her  horse  without  praying  that  she'd  break  her  neck 
before  she  came  back.  All  husbands  aren't  alike,  you 
see. 

G.  What  on  earth  has  that  to  do  with  my  case  ? 
The  man  must  ha'  been  mad,  or  his  wife  as  bad  as  they 
make  'em. 

M.  (Aside.*)  'No  fault  of  yours  if  either  weren't  all 
you  say.  You've  forgotten  the  time  when  you  were 
insane  about  the  Herriott  woman.  You  always  were  a 
good  hand  at  forgetting.  (Aloud.*)  Not  more  mad 
than  men  who  go  to  the  other  extreme.  Be  reasonable, 
Gaddy.  Your  roof-beams  are  sound  enough. 

G.  That  was  only  a  way  of  speaking.  I've  been 
uneasy  and  worried  about  the  Wife  ever  since  that 
awful  business  three  years  ago  —  when  —  I  nearly  lost 
her.  Can  you  wonder? 

M.  Oh,  a  shell  never  falls  twice  in  the  same 
place.  You've  paid  your  toll  to  misfortune  —  why 
should  your  Wife  be  picked  out  more  than  anybody 
else's  ? 

G.  I  can  talk  just  as  reasonably  as  you  can,  but  you 
don't  understand  —  you  don't  understand.  And  then 
there's  The  Butcha.  Deuce  knows  where  the  Ayah 
takes  him  to  sit  in  the  evening!  He  has  a  bit  of  a 
cough.  Haven't  you  noticed  it? 


THE   SWELLING  OF  JORDAN  205 

M.  Bosh !  The  Brigadier's  jumping  out  of  his  skii; 
with  pure  condition.  He's  got  a  muzzle  like  a  rose-leaf 
and  the  chest  of  a  two-year-old.  What's  demoralised 
you? 

G.  Funk.  That's  the  long  and  the  short  of  it. 
Funk! 

M.     But  what  is  there  to  funk? 

G.     Everything.     It's  ghastly. 

M.     Ah !     I  see. 

You  don't  want  to  fight, 

And  by  Jingo  when  we  do, 
You've  got  the  kid,  you've  got  the  Wife, 

You've  got  the  money,  too. 

That's  about  the  case,  eh? 

G.  I  suppose  that's  it.  But  it's  not  for  myself.  It's 
because  of  them.  At  least  I  think  it  is. 

M.  Are  you  sure  ?  Looking  at  the  matter  in  a  cold- 
blooded light,  the  Wife  is  provided  for  even  if  you  were 
wiped  out  to-night.  She  has  an  ancestral  home  to  go 
to,  money,  and  the  Brigadier  to  carry  on  the  illustrious 
name. 

G.  Then  it  is  for  myself  or  because  they  are  part  of 
me.  You  don't  see  it.  My  life's  so  good,  so  pleasant, 
as  it  is,  that  I  want  to  make  it  quite  safe.  Can't  you 
understand? 

M.  Perfectly.  '  Shelter-pit  for  the  Orf'cer's  charger,' 
as  they  say  in  the  Line. 

G.  And  I  have  everything  to  my  hand  to  make  it 
so.  I'm  sick  of  the  strain  and  the  worry  for  their  sakcs 
out  here ;  and  there  isn't  a  single  real  difficulty  to  pre- 
vent my  dropping  it  altogether.  It'll  only  cost  me  — 
Jack,  I  hope  you'll  never  know  the  shame  that  I've 
been  going  through  for  the  past  six  months. 


200  THE   SWELLING  OP  JORDAN 

M.  Hold  on  there !  I  don't  wish  to  be  told.  Every 
man  has  his  moods  and  tenses  sometimes. 

G.  (Laughing  bitterly, ,)  Has  he  ?  What  do  you 
call  craning  over  to  see  where  your  near-fore  lands  ? 

M.  In  my  case  it  means  that  I  have  been  on  the 
Considerable  Bend,  and  have  come  to  parade  with  a 
Head  and  a  Hand.  It  passes  in  three  strides. 

G.  (Lowering  voice.')  It  never  passes  with  me,  Jack. 
I'm  always  thinking  about  it.  Phil  Gadsby  funking  a 
fall  on  parade  !  Sweet  picture,  isn't  it !  Draw  it  for 
me. 

M.  (Gravely.')  Heaven  forbid!  A  man  like  you 
can't  be  as  bad  as  that.  A  fall  is  no  nice  thing,  but  one 
never  gives  it  a  thought. 

G.  Doesn't  one  ?  Wait  till  you've  got  a  wife  and 
a  youngster  of  your  own,  and  then  you'll  know  how  the 
roar  of  the  squadron  behind  you  turns  you  cold  all  up 
the  back. 

M.  (Aside.')  And  this  man  led  at  Amdheran  after 
Bagal-Deasin  went  under,  and  we  were  all  mixed  up 
together,  and  he  came  out  of  the  show  dripping  like  a 
butcher.  (Aloud.')  Skittles  !  The  men  can  always  open 
out,  and  you  can  always  pick  your  way  more  or  less. 
We  haven't  the  dust  to  bother  us,  as  the  men  have,  and 
whoever  heard  of  a  horse  stepping  on  a  man  ? 

G.  Never — as  long  as  he  can  see.  But  did  they 
open  out  for  poor  Errington? 

M.     Oh,  this  is  childish ! 

G.  I  know  it  is,  worse  than  that.  I  don't  care. 
You've  ridden  Van  Loo.  Is  he  the  sort  of  brute  to 
pick  his  way  —  'specially  when  we're  coming  up  in 
column  of  troop  with  any  pace  on? 

M.     Once  in  a  Blue  Moon  do  we  gallop  in  column  of 


THE   SWELLING   OF  JORDAN  207 

troop,  and  then  only  to  save  time.  Aren't  three  lengths 
enough  for  you  ? 

G.  Yes  —  quite  enough.  They  just  allow  for  the 
full  development  of  the  smash.  I'm  talking  like  a  cur, 
I  know :  but  I  tell  you  that,  for  the  past  three  months, 
I've  felt  every  hoof  of  the  squadron  in  the  small  of  my 
back  every  time  that  I've  led. 

M.     But,  Gaddy,  this  is  awful  1 

G.  Isn't  it  lovely?  Isn't  it  royal?  A  Captain  of 
the  Pink  Hussars  watering  up  his  charger  before  parade 
like  the  blasted  boozing  Colonel  of  a  Black  Regiment ! 

M.     You  never  did ! 

G.  Once  only.  He  squelched  like  a  mussuck,  and 
the  Troop-Sergeant-Major  cocked  his  eye  at  me.  You 
know  old  Haffy's  eye.  I  was  afraid  to  do  it 
again. 

M.  I  should. think  so.  That  was  the  best  way  to 
rupture  old  Van  Loo's  tummy,  and  make  him  crumple 
you  up.  You  knew  that. 

G.     I  didn't  care.     It  took  the  edge  off  him. 

M.  'Took  the  edge  off  him'?  Gaddy,  you — you 
—  you  mustn't,  you  know  !  Think  of  the  men. 

G.  That's  another  thing  I  am  afraid  of.  D'you 
s'pose  they  know  ? 

M.  Let's  hope  not ;  but  they're  deadly  quick  to  spot 
skrim  —  little  things  of  that  kind.  See  here,  old  man, 
send  the  Wife  Home  for  the  hot  weather  and  come  to 
Kashmir  with  me.  We'll  start  a  boat  on  the  Dal  or 
cross  the  Rhotang  —  shoot  ibex  or  loaf  —  which  you 
please.  Only  come !  You're  a  bit  off  your  oats  and 
you're  talking  nonsense.  Look  at  the  Colonel — swag- 
bellied  rascal  that  he  is.  He  has  a  wife  and  no  end  of  a 
bow-window  of  his  own.  Can  any  one  of  us  ride  round 


'208  THE   SWELLING  OF  JORDAN 

him  —  chalkstones  and  all?     I  can't,  and  I  think  I  can 
shove  a  crock  along  a  bit. 

G.  Some  men  are  different.  I  haven't  the  nerve. 
Lord  help  me,  I  haven't  the  nerve!  I've  taken  up  a 
hole  and  a  half  to  get  my  knees  well  under  the  wallets. 
I  can't  help  it.  I'm  so  afraid  of  anything  happening  to 
me.  On  my  soul,  I  ought  to  be  broke  in  front  of  the 
squadron,  for  cowardice. 

M.     Ugly  word,  that.     I  should  never  have  the  cour 
age  to  own  up. 

G  I  meant  to  lie  about  my  reasons  when  I  began, 
but — I've  got  out  of  the  habit  of  lying  to  you,  old  man. 
Jack,  you  wont? —  But  I  know  you  won't. 

M.  Of  course  not.  (JB-alf  aloud.*)  The  Pinks  are 
paying  dearly  for  their  Pride. 

G.     Eh!     Wha-at? 

M.  Don't  you  know?  The  men  have  called  Mrs. 
Gadsby  the  Pride  of  the  Pink  Hussars  ever  since  she 
came  to  us. 

G.  'Tisn't  her  fault.  Don't  think  that.  It's  all 
mine. 

M.     What  does  she  say? 

G.  I  haven't  exactly  put  it  before  her.  She's  the 
best  little  woman  in  the  world,  Jack,  and  all  that  —  but 
she  wouldn't  counsel  a  man  to  stick  to  his  calling  if  it 
came  between  him  and  her.  At  least,  I  think 

M.  Never  mind.  Don't  tell  her  what  you  told  me. 
Go  on  the  Peerage  and  Landed-Gentry  tack. 

G.  She'd  see  through  it.  She's  five  times  cleverer 
than  I  am. 

M.  (Aside.}  Then  she'll  accept  the  sacrifice  and 
think  a  little  bit  worse  of  him  for  the  rest  of  her  days. 

G.     (Absently.^)     I  say,  do  you  despise  me  ? 


THE   SWELLING   OF  JORDAN  209 

M.  'Queer  way  of  putting  it.  Have  you  ever  been 
asked  that  question?  Think  a  minute.  What  answer 
used  you  to  give  ? 

G.  So  bad  as  that  ?  I'm  not  entitled  to  expect  any- 
thing more ,  but  it's  a  bit  hard  when  one's  best  friend 
turns  round  and 

M.  So  I  have  found.  But  you  will  have  consola- 
tions —  Bailiffs  and  Drains  and  Liquid  Manure  and 
the  Primrose  League,  and,  perhaps,  if  you're  lucky, 
the  Colonelcy  of  a  Yeomanry  Cav-al-ry  Regiment — 
all  uniform  and  no  riding,  I  believe.  How  old  are 
you? 

G.     Thirty-three.     I  know  it's 

M.  At  forty  you'll  be  a  fool  of  a  J.P.  landlord.  At 
fifty  you'll  own  a  bath-chair,  arid  The  Brigadier,  if  he 
takes  after  you,  will  be  fluttering  the  dovecotes  of  — • 
what's  the  particular  dunghill  you're  going  to  ?  Also, 
Mrs.  Gadsby  will  be  fat. 

G.     (Limply.')     This  is  rather  more  than  a  joke. 

M.  D'you  think  so?  Isn't  cutting  the  Service  a 
joke?  It  generally  takes  a  man  fifty  years  to  arrive  at 
it.  You're  quite  right,  though.  It  is  more  than  a  joke. 
You've  managed  it  in  thirty-three. 

G.  Don't  make  me  feel  worse  than  I  do.  Will  it 
satisfy  you  if  I  own  that  I  am  a  shirker,  a  skriin- 
shanker,  and  a  coward? 

M.  It  will  not,  because  I'm  the  only  man  in  the 
world  who  can  talk  to  you  like  this  without  being 
knocked  down.  You  mustn't  take  all  that  I've  said  to 
heart  in  this  way  I  only  spoke  —  a  lot  of  it  at  least  — 
out  of  pure  selfishness,  because,  because  —  Oh,  damn  it 
all,  old  man,  —  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  without 
you.  Of  course,  you've  got  the  money  and  the  place 


210  THE   SWELLING  Otf  JORDAN 

and  all  that  —  and  there  are  two  very  good  reasons  why 
you  should  take  care  of  yourself. 

G.  'Doesn't  make  it  any  the  sweeter.  I'm  backing 
out  —  I  know  I  am.  I  al ways  had  a  soft  drop  in  me 
somewhere  —  and  I  daren't  risk  any  danger  to  them. 

M.  Why  in  the  world  should  you  ?  You're  bound  to 
think  of  your  family  —  bound  to  think.  Er-hmm.  If  I 
wasn't  a  younger  son  I'd  go  too — be  shot  if  I  wouldn't! 

G.  Thank  you,  Jack.  It's  a  kind  lie,  but  it's  the 
blackest  you've  told  for  some  time.  I  know  what  I'm 
doing,  and  I'm  going  into  it  with  my  eyes  open.  Old 
man,  I  can't  help  it.  What  would  you  do  if  you  were 
in  my  place? 

M.  (Aside.)  'Couldn't  conceive  any  woman  getting 
permanently  between  me  and  the  Regiment.  (Aloud.) 
'Can't  say  'Very  likely  I  should  do  no  better.  I'm 
sorry  for  you — awf'ly  sorry  —  but  'if  them's  your  senti 
ments,'  I  believe,  I  really  do,  that  you  are  acting  wisely. 

G.  Do  you?  I  hope  you  do.  (In  a  whisper.)  Jack, 
be  very  sure  of  yourself  before  you  marry.  I'm  an 
ungrateful  ruffian  to  say  this,  but  marriage  —  even  as 
good  a  marriage  as  mine  has  been  -—  hampers  a  man's 
work,  it  cripples  his  sword-arm,  and  oh,  it  plays  Hell 
with  his  notions  of  duty !  Sometimes  —  good  and  sweet 
as  she  is  —  sometimes  I  could  wish  that  I  had  kept  my 
freedom  —  No,  I  don't  mean  that  exactly. 

MRS.  G.  (Coming  down  veranda.)  What  are  you 
wagging  your  head  over,  Pip? 

M.  (Turning  quickly.)  Me,  as  usual.  The  old  ser- 
mon. Your  husband  is  recommending  me  to  get  mar- 
ried. 'Never  saw  such  a  one-ideaed  man ! 

MRS.  G.  Well,  why  don't  you?  I  daresay  you 
would  make  some  woman  very  happy. 


THE   SWELLING  OF  JORDAN  211 

G.  There's  the  Law  and  the  Prophets,  Jack.  Never 
mind  the  Regiment.  Make  a  woman  happy.  (Aside.) 
O  Lord ! 

M.  We'll  see.  I  must  be  off  to  make  a  Troop  Cook 
desperately  unhappy.  I  won't  have  the  wily  Hussar  fed 
on  Government  Bullock  Train  shinbones  —  (Hastily. ,) 
Surely  black  ants  can't  be  good  for  The  Brigadier.  He's 
picking  'em  off  the  matting  and  eating  'em.  Here,  Seiior 
Comandante  Don  Grubbynose,  come  and  talk  to  me. 
(Lifts  G.  JUNIOR  in  his  arms.)  'Want  my  watch  ?  You 
won't  be  able  to  put  it  into  your  mouth,  but  you  can  try. 
(G.  JUNIOR  drops  watch,  breaking  dial  and  hands.') 

MRS.  G .  Oh,  Captain  Mafflin,  I  am  so  sorry !  Jack, 
you  bad,  bad  little  villain.  Ahhh! 

M.  It's  not  the  least  consequence,  I  assure  you. 
He'd  treat  the  world  in  the  same  way  if  he  could  get  it 
into  his  hands.  Everything's  made  to  be  played  with 
and  broken,  isn't  it,  young  'un?  ' 

##*#*###* 

MRS.  G.  Mafflin  didn't  at  all  like  his  watch  being 
broken,  though  he  was  too  polite  to  say  so.  It  was 
entirely  his  fault  for  giving  it  to  the  child.  Dem  little 
puds  are  werry,  werry  feeble,  aren't  dey,  my  Jack-in-de- 
box?  (To  G.)  What  did  he  want  to  see  you  for? 

G.     Regimental  shop  as  usual. 

MRS.  G.  The  Regiment!  Always  the  Regiment.  On 
my  word,  I  sometimes  feel  jealous  of  Mafflin. 

G.  (Wearily.)  Poor  old  Jack?  I  don't  think  you 
need.  Isn't  it  time  for  The  Butclia  to  have  his  nap? 
Bring  a  chair  out  here,  dear  I've  got  something  to 
talk  over  with  you. 

AND  THIS  is  THE  END  OF  THE  STORY  OF  THE 
GADSBYS. 


L'ENVOI 

WHAT  is  the  moral  ?     Who  rides  may  read. 

When  the  night  is  thick  and  the  tracks  are  blind. 
A  friend  at  a  pinch  is  a  friend  indeed ; 

But  a  fool  to  wait  for  the  laggard  behind : 
Down  to  Gehenna  or  up  to  the  Throne 
He  travels  the  fastest  who  travels  alone. 

White  hands  cling  to  the  tightened  rein, 
Slipping  the  spur  from  the  booted  heel, 

Tenderest  voices  cry,  '  Turn  again,' 
Red  lips  tarnish  the  scabbarded  steel, 

High  hopes  faint  on  a  warm  hearth-stone  — 

He  travels  the  fastest  who  travels  alone. 

One  may  fall  but  he  falls  by  himself  — 
Falls  by  himself  with  himself  to  blame ; 

One  may  attain  and  to  him  is  the  pelf, 
Loot  of  the  city  in  Gold  or  Fame  : 

Plunder  of  earth  shall  be  all  his  own 

Who  travels  the  fastest  and  travels  alone. 

Wherefore  the  more  ye  be  holpen  and  stayed - 
Stayed  by  a  friend  in  the  hour  of  toil, 

Sing  the  heretical  song  I  have  made  — 
His  be  the  labour  and  yours  be  the  spoil. 

Win  by  his  aid  and  the  aid  disown  — 

He  travels  the  fastest  who  travels  alone. 

212 


DRAY  WARA   YOW  DEE 

For  jealousy  is  the  rage  of  a  man :  therefore  he  will  not  spare  in 
the  day  of  vengeance.  —  Prow.  vi.  34. 

ALMONDS  and  raisins,  Sahib?  Grapes  from  Kabul? 
Or  a  pony  of  the  rarest  if  the  Sahib  will  only  come  with 
me.  He  is  thirteen  three,  Sahib,  plays  polo,  goes  in  a 
cart,  carries  a  lady  and  —  Holy  Kurshed  and  the  Blessed 
Imams,  it  is  the  Sahib  himself!  My  heart  is  made  fat 
and  my  eye  glad.  May  you  never  be  tired!  As  is  cold 
water  in  the  Tirah,  so  is  the  sight  of  a  friend  in  a  far 
place.  And  what  do  you  in  this  accursed  land?  South 
of  Delhi,  Sahib,  you  know  the  saying  —  'Rats  are  the 
men  and  trulls  the  women.'  It  was  an  order?  Ahoo! 
An  order  is  an  order  till  one  is  strong  enough  to  dis- 
obey. O  my  brother,  O  my  friend,  we  have  met  in  an 
auspicious  hour!  Is  all  well  in  the  heart  and  the  body 
and  the  house  ?  In  a  lucky  day  have  we  two  come  to- 
gether again. 

I  am  to  go  with  you?  Your  favour  is  great.  Will 
there  be  picket-room  in  the  compound?  I  have  three 
horses  and  the  bundles  and  the  horse-boy.  Moreover, 
remember  that  the  police  here  hold  me  a  horse-thief. 
What  do  these  Lowland  bastards  know  of  horse-thieves  ? 
Do  you  remember  that  time  in  Peshawur  when  Kamal 
hammered  on  the  gates  of  Jumrud  —  mountebank  that 
lie  was;  —  and  lifted  the  Colonel's  horse?  all  in  one 
night?  Kama!  is  dead  no\v,  l>ut  his  nephew  has  taken 

213 


214  DRAT   WARA  TOW  DEB 

up  the  matter,  and  there  will  be  more  horses  amissing 
if  the  Khaiber  Levies  do  not  look  to  it. 

The  Peace  of  God  and  the  favour  of  His  Prophet  be 
upon  this  house  and  all  that  is  in  it!  Shafizullah,  rope 
the  mottled  mare  under  the  tree  and  draw  water.  The 
horses  can  stand  in  the  sun,  but  double  the  felts  over 
the  loins.  Nay,  my  friend,  do  not  trouble  to  look  them 
over.  They  are  to  sell  to  the  Officer  fools  who  know 
so  many  things  of  the  horse.  The  mare  is  heavy  in 
foal ;  the  gray  is  a  devil  unlicked ;  and  the  dun  —  but 
you  know  the  trick  of  the  peg.  When  they  are  sold  I 
go  back  to  Pubbi,  or,  it  may  be,  the  Valley  of  Pe- 
shawur. 

O  friend  of  my  heart,  it  is  good  to  see  you  again.  I 
have  been  bowing  and  lying  all  day  to  the  Officer- 
Sahibs  in  respect  to  those  horses ;  and  my  mouth  is  dry 
for  straight  talk.  Auggrh!  Before  a  meal  tobacco  is 
good.  Do  not  join  me,  for  we  are  not  in  our  own  coun- 
try. Sit  in  the  veranda  and  I  will  spread  my  cloth 
here.  But  first  I  will  drink.  In  the  name  of  Grod 
returning  thanks,  thrice !  This  is  sweet  water,  indeed 
—  sweet  as  the  water  of  Sheoran  when  it  comes  from 
the  snows. 

They  are  all  well  and  pleased  in  the  North  —  Khoda 
Baksh  and  the  others.  Yar  Khan  has  come  down  with 
the  horses  from  Kurdistan  —  six  and  thirty  head  only, 
and  a  full  half  pack-ponies  —  and  has  said  openly  in 
the  Kashmir  Serai  that  you  English  should  send  guns 
and  blow  the  Amir  into  Hell.  There  are  fifteen  tolls 
now  on  the  Kabul  road ;  and  at  Dakka,  when  he  thought 
he  was  clear,  Yar  Khan  was  stripped  of  all  his  Balkh 
stallions  by  the  Governor!  This  is  a  great  in  justice, 
and  Yar  Khan  is  hot  with  rage.  And  of  the  others? 


DRAY   WARA   YOW  DEB  215 

Mahbub  All  is  still  at  Pubbi,  writing  God  knows  what. 
Tugluq  Khan  is  in  jail  for  the  business  of  the  Kohat 
Police  Post.  Faiz  Beg  came  down  from  Ismail-ki- 
Dhera  with  a  Bokhariot  belt  for  thee,  my  brother,  at  the 
closing  of  the  year,  but  none  knew  whither  thou  hadst 
gone:  there  was  no  news  left  behind.  The  Cousins 
have  taken  a  new  run  near  Pakpattan  to  breed  mules 
for  the  Government  carts,  and  there  is  a  stoiy  in  Bazar 
of  a  priest.  Oho !  Such  a  salt  tale !  Listen 

Sahib,  why  do  you  ask  that?  My  clothes  are  fouled 
because  of  the  dust  on  the  road.  My  eyes  are  sad  be- 
cause of  the  glare  of  the  sun.  My  feet  are  swollen 
becau.se  I  have  washed  them  in  bitter  water,  and  my 
cheeks  are  hollow  because  the  food  here  is  bad.  Fire 
burn  your  money!  What  do  I  want  with  it?  I  am 
rich  and  I  thought  you  were  my  friend ;  but  you  are 
like  the  others  —  a  Sahib.  Is  a  man  sad  ?  Give  him 
money,  say  the  Sahibs.  Is  he  dishonoured?  Give  him 
money,  say  the  Sahibs.  Hath  he  a  wrong  upon  his 
head?  Give  him  money,  say  the  Sahibs.  Such  are 
the  Sahibs,  and  such  art  thou  —  even  thou. 

Nay,  do  not  look  at  the  feet  of  the  dun.  Pity  it  is 
that  I  ever  taught  you  to  know  the  legs  of  a  horse. 
Footsore?  Be  it  so.  What  of  that?  The  roads  are 
hard.  And  the  mare  footsore?  She  bears  a  double 
burden,  Sahib. 

And  now  I  pray  you,  give  me  permission  to  depart. 
Great  favour  and  honour  has  the  Sahib  done  me,  and 
graciously  has  he  shown  his  belief  that  the  horses  are 
stolen.  Will  it  please  him  to  send  me  to  the  Thana? 
To  call  a  sweeper  and  have  me  led  away  by  one  of  these 
lizard-men  ?  I  am  the  Sahib's  friend.  I  have  drunk 
water  in  the  shadow  of  his  house,  and  he  has  blackened 


216  DRAY   WARA   YOW   DEE 

my  face.  Remains  there  anything  more  to  do  ?  Will 
the  Sahib  give  me  eight  annas  to  make  smooth  the  in- 
jury and  —  complete  the  insult ? 

Forgive  me,  my  brother.  1  knew  not  —  I  know  not 
now  —  what  I  say.  Yes,  I  lied  to  you!  I  will  put 
dust  on  my  head  —  and  I  am  an  Afridi !  The  horses 
have  been  marched  footsore  from  the  Valley  to  this 
place,  and  my  eyes  are  dim,  and  my  body  aches  for  the 
want  of  sleep,  and  my  heart  is  dried  up  with  sorrow 
and  shame.  But  as  it  was  my  shame,  so  by  God  the 
Dispenser  of  Justice  —  by  Allah-al-Mumit  —  it  shall 
be  my  own  revenge ! 

We  have  spoken  together  with  naked  hearts  before 
this,  and  our  hands  have  dipped  into  the  same  dish  and 
thou  hast  been  to  me  as  a  brother.  Therefore  I  pay 
thee  back  with  lies  and  ingratitude  —  as  a  Pathan. 
Listen  now !  When  the  grief  of  the  soul  is  too  heavy 
for  endurance  it  may  be  a  little  eased  by  speech ,  and, 
moreover,  the  mind  of  a  true  man  is  as  a  well,  and  the 
pebble  of  confession  dropped  therein  sinks  and  is  no 
more  seen.  From  the  Valley  have  I  come  on  foot, 
league  by  league,  with  a  fire  in  my  chest  like  the  fire 
of  the  Pit.  And  why?  Hast  thou,  then,  so  quickly 
forgotten  our  customs,  among  this  folk  who  sell  their 
wives  and  their  daughters  for  silver?  Come  back  with 
me  to  the  North  and  be  among  men  once  more.  Come 
back,  when  this  matter  is  accomplished  and  I  call  for 
thee !  The  bloom  of  the  peach-orchards  is  upon  all  the 
Valley,  and  here  is  only  dust  and  a  great  stink.  There 
is  a  pleasant  wind  among  the  mulberry  trees,  and  the 
streams  are  bright  with  snow-water,  and  the  caravans 
go  up  and  the  caravans  go  down,  and  a  hundred  fires 
sparkle  in  the  gut  of  the  Pass,  and  tent-peg  answers 


DRAY   WARA   YOW   DEE  217 

hammer-nose,  and  pack-horse  squeals  to  pack-horse 
across  the  drift  smoke  of  the  evening.  It  is  good  in 
the  North  now.  Come  back  with  me.  Let  us  return 
to  our  own  people!  Come! 

********* 

Whence  is  my  sorrow?  Does  a  man  tear  out  his 
heart  and  make  fritters  thereof  over  a  slow  fire  for  aught 
other  than  a  woman  ?  Do  not  laugh,  friend  of  mine, 
for  your  time  will  also  be.  A  woman  of  the  Abazai 
was  she,  and  I  took  her  to  wife  to  staunch  the  feud 
between  our  village  and  the  men  of  Ghor.  I  am  no 
longer  young?  The  lime  has  touched  my  beard?  True. 
I  had  no  need  of  the  wedding?  Nay,  but  I  loved  her. 
What  saith  Rahman:  'Into  whose  heart  Love  enters, 
there  is  Folly  and  naught  else.  By  a  glance  of  the  eye 
site  hath  blinded. thee;  and  by  the  eyelids  and  the  fringe 
of  the  eyelids  taken  thee  into  the  captivity  without 
ransom,  and  naught  else.'  Dost  thou  remember  that 
song  at  the  sheep-roasting  in  the  Pindi  camp  among 
the  Uzbegs  of  the  Amir? 

The  Abazai  are  dogs  and  their  women  the  servants 
of  sin.  There  was  a  lover  of  her  own  people,  but  of 
that  her  father  told  me  naught.  My  friend,  curse  for 
me  in  your  prayers,  as  I  curse  at  each  praying  from  the 
Fakr  to  the  Isha,  the  name  of  Daoud  Shah,  Abazai, 
whose  head  is  still  upon  his  neck,  whose  hands  are 
still  upon  his  wrists,  who  has  done  me  dishonour,  who 
has  made  my  name  a  laughing-stock  among  the  women 
of  Little  Malikand. 

I  went  into  Hindustan  at  the  end  of  two  months  — 
to  Cherat.  I  was  gone  twelve  days  only;  but  I  had 
said  that  I  would  be  liftor-n  days  absent.  This  I  did  to 
try  her,  for  it  is  written:  'Trust  not  the  incapable.' 


218  DRAY   WARA   YOW   DEE 

Coming  up  the  gorge  alone  in  the  falling  of  the  light, 
I  heard  the  voice  of  a  man  singing  at  the  door  of  my 
house;  and  it  was  the  voice  of  Daoud  Shah,  and  the 
song  that  he  sang  was  ''Dray  wara  yow  dee' — 'All 
three  are  one. '  It  was  as  though  a  heel-rope  had  been 
slipped  round  my  heart  and  all  the  Devils  were  draw- 
ing it  tight  past  endurance.  I  crept  silently  up  the 
hill-road,  but  the  fuse  of  my  matchlock  was  wetted  with 
the  rain,  and  I  could  not  slay  Daoud  Shah  from  afar. 
Moreover,  it  was  in  my  mind  to  kill  the  woman  also. 
Thus  he  sang,  sitting  outside  my  house,  and,  anon,  the 
woman  opened  the  door,  and  I  came  nearer,  crawling 
on  my  belly  among  the  rocks.  I  had  only  my  knife  to 
my  hand.  But  a  stone  slipped  under  my  foot,  and  the 
two  looked  down  the  hillside,  and  he,  leaving  his  match- 
lock, fled  from  my  anger,  because  he  was  afraid  for  the 
life  that  was  in  him.  But  the  woman  moved  not  till  I 
stood  in  front  of  her,  crying:  'O  woman,  what  is  this 
that  thou  hast  done  ?  '  And  she,  void  of  fear,  though 
she  knew  my  thought,  laughed,  saying :  ''  It  is  a  little 
thing.  I  loved  him,  and  thou  art  a  dog  and  cattle-thief 
coming  by  night.  Strike !  '  And  I,  being  still  blinded 
by  her  beaut}r,  for,  O  my  friend,  the  women  of  the 
Abazai  are  very  fair,  said:  'Hast  thou  no  fear?'  And 
she  answered:  'None  —  but  only  the  fear  that  I  do  not 
die.'  Then  said  I:  'Have  no  fear.'  And  she  bowed 
her  head,  and  I  smote  it  off  at  the  neck-bone  so  that  it 
leaped  between  my  feet.  Thereafter  the  rage  of  our 
people  came  upon  me,  and  I  hacked  off  the  breasts,  that 
the  men  of  Little  Malikand  might  know  the  crime,  and 
cast  the  body  into  the  water-course  that  flows  to  the 
Kabul  river.  Dray  wara  j/ow  dee  !  Dray  wara  yow  dee  I 
The  body  without  the  head,  the  soul  without  light,  and 


DRAY    WARA   YOW  DEB  219 

my  own  darkling  heart  —  all  three  are  one  —  all  three 
are  one! 

That  night,  making  no  halt,  I  went  to  Ghor  and  de- 
manded news  of  Daoud  Shah.  Men  said:  'He  is  gone 
to  Pubbi  for  horses.  What  wouldst  thou  of  him  ?  There 
is  peace  between  the  villages.'  I  made  answer:  'Aye! 
The  peace  of  treachery  and  the  love  that  the  Devil  Atala 
bore  to  Gurel.'  So  I  fired  thrice  into  the  gate  and 
laughed  and  went  my  way. 

In  those  hours,  brother  and  friend  of  my  heart's  heart, 
the  moon  and  the  stars  were  as  blood  above  me,  and  in 
my  mouth  was  the  taste  of  dry  earth.  Also,  I  broke 
no  bread,  and  my  drink  was  the  rain  of  the  Valley  of 
Ghor  upon  my  face. 

At  Pubbi  I  found  Mahbub  Ali,  the  writer,  sitting 
upon  his  charpoy  and  gave  up  my  arms  according  to 
your  Law.  But  I  was  not  grieved,  for  it  was  in  my 
heart  that  I  should  kill  Daoud  Shah  with  my  bare  hands 
thus  —  as  a  man  strips  a  bunch  of  raisins.  Mahbub 
Ali  said:  c  Daoud  Shah  has  even  now  gone  hot-foot  to 
Peshawur,  and  he  will  pick  up  his  horses  upon  the  road 
to  Delhi,  for  it  is  said  that  the  Bombay  Tramway  Com- 
pany are  buying  horses  there  by  the  truck-load ;  eight 
horses  to  the  truck.'  And  that  was  a  true  saving. 

»/          O 

Then  I  saw  that  the  hunting  would  be  no  little  thing, 
for  the  man  was  gone  into  your  borders  to  save  himself 
against  my  wrath.  And  shall  he  save  himself  so? 
Am  I  not  alive?  Though  he  run  northward  to  the 
Dora  and  the  snow,  or  southerly  to  the  Black  Water,  I 
will  follow  him,  as  a  lover  follows  the  footsteps  of  his 
mistress,  and  coming  upon  him  I  will  take  him  ten- 
derly —  Aho!  so  tenderly!  --  in  my  arms,  saying:  'Well 
hast  thou  done  and  well  shalt  thou  be  repaid.'  And 


220  DRAY    WARA   YOW    DEE 

out  of  that  embrace  Daoud  Shah  shall  not  go  forth  with 
the  breath  in  his  nostrils.  Auggrh!  Where  is  the 
pitcher?  I  am  as  thirsty  as  a  mother-mare  in  the  first 
month. 

Your  Law !  What  is  your  Law  to  me  ?  When  the 
horses  fight  on  the  runs  do  they  regard  the  boundary 
pillars ;  or  do  the  kites  of  Ali  Mus jid  forbear  because 
the  carrion  lies  under  the  shadow  of  the  Ghor  Kuttri  ? 
The  matter  began  across  the  Border.  It  shall  finish 
where  God  pleases.  Here,  in  my  own  country,  or  in 
Hell.  All  three  are  one. 

Listen  now,  sharer  of  the  sorrow  of  my  heart,  and 
I  will  tell  of  the  hunting.  I  followed  to  Peshawur 
from  Pubbi,  and  I  went  to  and  fro  about  the  streets  of 
Peshawur  like  a  houseless  dog,  seeking  for  my  enemy. 
Once  I  thought  that  I  saw  him  washing  his  mouth 
in  the  conduit  in  the  big  square,  but  when  I  came  up 
he  was  gone.  It  may  be  that  it  was  he,  and,  seeing 
my  face,  he  had  fled. 

A  girl  of  the  bazar  said  that  he  would  go  to  Now- 
shera.  I  said:  'O  heart's  heart,  does  Daoud  Shah  visit 
thee?'  And  she  said:  'Even  so.'  I  said:  'I  would 
fain  see  him,  for  we  be  friends  parted  for  two  years. 
Hide  me,  I  pray,  here  in  the  shadow  of  the  window 
shutter,  and  I  will  wait  for  his  coming.'  And  the 
girl  said :  '  O  Pathan,  look  into  my  eyes !  '  And  I 
turned,  leaning  upon  her  breast,  and  looked  into  her 
eyes,  swearing  that  I  spoke  the  very  Truth  of  God. 
But  she  answered:  'Never  friend  waited  friend  with 
such  eyes.  Lie  to  God  and  the  Prophet,  but  to  a  woman 
ye  cannot  lie.  Get  hence !  There  shall  no  harm  befall 
Daoud  Shah  by  cause  of  me.' 

I  would  have  strangled  that  girl  but  for  the  fear  of 


DRAY   WARA   YOW  DEE  221 

your  Police ;  and  thus  the  hunting  would  have  come  to 
naught.  Therefore  I  only  laughed  and  departed,  and 
she  leaned  over  the  window-bar  in  the  night  and  mocked 
me  down  the  street.  Her  name  is  Jamun.  When  I 
have  made  my  account  with  the  man  I  will  return  to 
Peshawur  and — her  lovers  shall  desire  her  no  more  for 
her  beauty's  sake.  She  shall  not  be  Jamun  but  Ak, 
the  cripple  among  trees.  Ho!  Ho!  Ak  shall  she  be! 

At  Peshawur  I  bought  the  horses  and  grapes,  and 
the  almonds  and  dried  fruits,  that  the  reason  of  my 
wanderings  might  be  open  to  the  Government,  and 
that  there  might  be  no  hindrance  upon  the  road.  But 
when  I  came  to  Nowshera  he  was  gone,  and  I  knew  not 
where  to  go.  I  stayed  one  day  at  Nowshera,  and  in 
the  night  a  Voice  spoke  in  my  ears  as  I  slept  among 
the  horses.  All  night  it  flew  round  my  head  and  would 
not  cease  from  whispering.  I  was  upon  my  belly, 
sleeping  as  the  Devils  sleep,  and  it  may  have  been  that 
the  Voice  was  the  voice  of  a  Devil.  It  said:  'Go 
south,  and  thou  shalt  come  upon  Daoud  Shah. '  Listen, 
my  brother  and  chiefest  among  friends  —  listen !  Is 
the  tale  a  long  one?  Think  ho\v  it  was  long  to  me.  1 
have  trodden  every  league  of  the  road  from  Pubbi  to 
this  place ;  and  from  Nowshera  my  guide  was  only  the 
Voice  and  the  lust  of  vengeance. 

To  the  Uttock  I  went,  but  that  was  no  hindrance  to 
me.  Ho!  Ho!  A  man  may  turn  the  word  twice, 
even  in  his  trouble.  The  Uttock  was  no  uttocl:  (obsta- 
cle) to  me;  and  I  heard  the  Voice  above  the  noise  of 
the  waters  beating  on  the  big  rock,  saying:  'Go  to  the 
right. '  So  I  went  to  Pindigheb,  and  in  those  days  my 
sleep  was  taken  from  me  utterly,  and  the  head  of  the 
woman  of  the  Abazai  was  before  me  night  and  d;iv,  even 


222  DRAY   WARA   YOW   DEE 

as  it  had  fallen  between  my  feet.  Dray  wara  yow  dee ! 
Dray  wara  yow  dee!  Fire,  ashes,  and  my  couch,  all 
three  are  one  —  all  three  are  one ! 

Now  I  was  far  from  the  winter  path  of  the  dealers 
who  had  gone  to  Sialkot  and  so  south  by  the  rail  and 
the  Big  Road  to  the  line  of  cantonments;  but  there  was 
a  Sahib  in  camp  at  Pindigheb  who  bought  from  me  a 
white  mare  at  a  good  price,  and  told  me  that  one  Daoud 
Shah  had  passed  to  Shahpur  with  horses.  Then  I  saw 
that  the  warning  of  the  Voice  was  true,  and  made  swift 
to  come  to  the  Salt  Hills.  The  Jhelum  was  in  flood, 
but  I  could  not  wait,  and,  in  the  crossing,  a  bay  stallion 
was  washed  down  and  drowned.  Herein  was  God  hard 
to  me  —  not  in  respect  of  the  beast,  of  that  I  had  no 
care  —  but  in  this  snatching.  While  I  was  upon  the 
right  bank  urging  the  horses  into  the  water,  Daoud 
Shah  was  upon  the  left ;  for  —  Alghias  !  Alghias  !  —  the 
hoofs  of  my  mare  scattered  the  hot  ashes  of  his  fires 
when  we  came  up  the  hither  bank  in  the  light  of 
morning.  But  he  had  fled.  His  feet  were  made  swift 
by  the  terror  of  Death.  And  I  went  south  from  Shah- 
pur  as  tho  kite  flies.  I  dared  not  turn  aside,  lest  I 
should  miss  my  vengeance  — which  is  my  right.  From 
Shahpur  I  skirted  by  the  Jhelum,  for  I  thought  that  he 
would  avoid  the  Desert  of  the  Rechna.  But,  presently, 
at  Sahiwal,  I  turned  away  upon  the  road  to  Jhang, 
Samundri,  and  Gugera,  till,  upon  a  night,  the  mottled 
mare  breasted  the  fence  of  the  rail  that  runs  to  Mont- 
gomery, And  that  place  was  Okara,  and  the  head  of 
the  woman  of  the  Abazai  lay  upon  the  sand  between  my 
feet. 

Thence  I  went  to  Fazilka,  and  they  said  that  I  was 
mad  to  bring  starved  horses  there.  The  Voice  was 


DRAY   WARA  YOW  DEE  223 

with  me,  and  I  was  not  mad,  but  only  wearied,  because 
I  could  not  find  Daoud  Shah.  It  was  written  that  I 
should  riot  find  him  at  Rania  nor  Bahadurgarh,  and 
I  came  into  Delhi  from  the  west,  and  there  also  I  found 
him  not.  My  friend,  I  have  seen  many  strange  things 
in  my  wanderings.  I  have  seen  Devils  rioting  across 
the  Rechna  as  the  stallions  riot  in  spring.  I  have 
heard  the  Djinns  calling  to  each  other  from  holes  in 
the  sand,  and  I  have  seen  them  pass  before  my  face. 
There  are  no  Devils,  say  the  Sahibs  ?  They  are  very 
wise,  but  they  do  not  know  all  things  about  devils  or 
—  horses.  Ho!  Ho!  I  say  to  you  who  are  laughing 
at  my  misery,  that  I  have  seen  the  Devils  at  high  noon 
whooping  and  leaping  on  the  shoals  of  the  Chenab. 
And  was  I  afraid?  My  brother,  when  the  desire  of  a 
man  is  set  upon  one  thing  alone,  he  fears  neither  God 
nor  Man  nor  Devil.  If  my  vengeance  failed,  I  would 
splinter  the  Gates  of  Paradise  with  the  butt  of  my  gun, 
or  I  would  cut  my  way  into  Hell  with  my  knife,  and  I 
would  call  upon  Those  who  Govern  there  for  the  body 
of  Daoud  Shah.  What  love  so  deep  as  hate  ? 

Do  not  speak.  I  know  the  thought  in  your  heart. 
Is  the  white  of  this  eye  clouded  ?  How  does  the  blood 
beat  at  the  wrist?  There  is  no  madness  in  my  flesh, 
but  only  the  vehemence  of  the  desire  that  has  eaten  me 
up.  Listen! 

South  of  Delhi  I  knew  not  the  country  at  all.  There- 
fore I  cannot  say  where  I  went,  but  I  passed  through 
many  cities.  I  knew  only  that  it  was  laid  upon  me  to 
go  south.  When  the  horses  could  march  no  more,  I 
threw  myself  upon  the  earth,  and  waited  till  the  day. 
There  was  no  sleep  with  me  in  that  journeying;  and 
that  was  a  heavy  burden.  Dost  thou  know,  brother  of 


DRAY    WABA   YOW  DEE 

mine,  the  evil  of  wakef  ulness  that  cannot  break  —  when 
the  bones  are  sore  for  lack  of  sleep,  and  the  skin  of  the 
temples  twitches  with  weariness,  and  yet  —  there  is  no 
sleep  —  there  is  no  sleep  ?  Dray  ivara  yow  dee  !  Dray 
wara  yow  dee!  The  eye  of  the  Sun,  the  eye  of  the 
Moon,  and  my  own  unrestful  eyes  —  all  three  are  one 
—  all  three  are  one ! 

There  was  a  city  the  name  whereof  I  have  forgotten, 
and  there  the  Voice  called  all  night.  That  was  ten 
days  ago.  It  has  cheated  me  afresh. 

I  have  come  hither  from  a  place  called  Hamirpur, 
and,  behold,  it  is  my  Fate  that  I  should  meet  with 
thee  to  my  comfort,  and  the  increase  of  friendship. 
This  is  a  good  omen.  By  the  joy  of  looking  upon 
thy  face  the  weariness  has  gone  from  my  feet,  and 
the  sorrow  of  my  so  long  travel  is  forgotten.  Also 
my  heart  is  peaceful  ;  for  I  know  that  the  end  is 
near. 

It  may  be  that  I  shall  find  Daoud  Shah  in  this  city 
going  northward,  since  a  Hillman  will  ever  head  back 
to  his  Hills  when  the  spring  warns.  And  shall  he  see 
those  hills  of  our  country?  Surely  I  shall  overtake 
him !  Surely  my  vengeance  is  safe !  Surely  God  hath 
him  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand  against  my  claiming. 
There  shall  no  harm  befall  Daoud  Shah  till  I  come; 
for  I  would  fain  kill  him  quick  and  whole  with  the  life 
sticking  firm  in  his  body.  A  pomegranate  is  sweetest 
when  the  cloves  break  away  unwilling  from  the  rind. 
Let  it  be  in  the  daytime,  that  I  may  see  his  face,  and 
my  delight  may  be  crowned. 

And  when  I  have  accomplished  the  matter  and  my 
Honour  is  made  clean,  I  shall  return  thanks  unto 
God,  the  Holder  of  the  Scale  of  the  Law,  and  I  shall 


DRAY   WARA  YOW  DEE  225 

sleep.  From  the  night,  through  the  day,  and  into 
the  night  again  I  shall  sleep  ;  and  no  dream  shall 
trouble  me. 

And  now,  O  my  brother,  the  tale  is  all  told.      Ahif 
Ahi!  Alghias!  Ahi! 


THE   JUDGMENT   OF  DUNGARA 

See  the  pale  martyr  with  his  shirt  on  fire.  —  Printer's  Error. 

THEY  tell  the  tale  even  now  among  the  groves  of 
the  Berbulda  Hill,  and  for  corroboration  point  to  the 
roofless  and  windowless  Mission-house.  The  great 
God  Dungara,  the  God  of  Things  as  They  Are,  Most 
Terrible,  One-eyed,  Bearing  the  Red  Elephant  Tusk, 
did  it  all;  and  he  who  refuses  to  believe  in  Dungara 
will  assuredly  be  smitten  by  the  Madness  of  Yat  —  the 
madness  that  fell  upon  the  sons  and  the  daughters  of 
the  Buria  Kol  when  they  turned  aside  from  Dungara 
and  put  on  clothes.  So  says  Athon  Daz6,  who  is 
High  Priest  of  the  shrine  and  Warden  of  the  Red 
Elephant  Tusk.  But  if  you  ask  the  Assistant  Collec- 
tor and  Agent  in  Charge  of  the  Buria  Kol,  he  will 
laugh  —  not  because  he  bears  any  malice  against  mis- 
sions, but  because  he  himself  saw  the  vengeance  of 
Dungara  executed  upon  the  spiritual  children  of  the 
Reverend  Justus  Krenk,  Pastor  of  the  Tubingen  Mis- 
sion, and  upon  Lotta,  his  virtuous  wife. 

Yet  if  ever  a  man  merited  good  treatment  of  the  Gods 
it  was  the  Reverend  Justus,  one  time  of  Heidelberg, 
who,  on  the  faith  of  a  call,  went  into  the  wilderness 
and  took  the  blonde,  blue-eyed  Lotta  with  him.  'We 
will  these  Heathen  now  by  idolatrous  practices  so  dark- 
ened better  make, '  said  Justus  in  the  early  days  of  his 
career.  'Yes,'  he  added  with  conviction,  'they  shall 

226 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF   DUNGABA.  227 

be  good  and  shall  with  their  hands  to  work  learn.  For 
all  good  Christians  must  work. '  And  upon  a  stipend 
more  modest  even  than  that  of  an  English  lay-reader, 
Justus  Krenk  kept  house  beyond  Kamala  and  the  gorge 
of  Malair,  beyond  the  Berbulda  River  close  to  the  foot 
of  the  blue  hill  of  Panth  on  whose  summit  stands  the 
Temple  of  Dungara  —  in  the  heart  of  the  country  of 
the  Buria  Kol  —  the  naked,  good-tempered,  timid, 
shameless,  lazy  Buria  Kol. 

Do  you  know  what  life  at  a  Mission  outpost  means  ? 
Try  to  imagine  a  loneliness  exceeding  that  of  the  small- 
est station  to  which  Government  has  ever  sent  you  — 
isolation  that  weighs  upon  the  waking  eyelids  and 
drives  you  by  force  headlong  into  the  labours  of  the 
day.  There  is  no  post,  there  is  no  one  of  your  own 
colour  to  speak  to,  there  are  no  roads :  there  is,  indeed, 
food  to  keep  you  alive,  but  it  is  not  pleasant  to  eat; 
and  whatever  of  good  or  beauty  or  interest  there  is  in 
your  life,  must  come  from  yourself  and  the  grace  that 
may  be  planted  in  you. 

In  the  morning,  with  a  patter  ot  soft  feet,  the  con- 
verts, the  doubtful,  and  the  open  scoffers,  troop  up  to 
the  veranda.  You  must  be  infinitely  kind  and  patient, 
and,  above  all,  clear-sighted,  for  you  deal  with  the 
simplicity  of  childhood,  the  experience  of  man,  and 
the  subtlety  of  the  savage.  Your  congregation  have  a 
hundred  material  wants  to  be  considered;  and  it  is  for 
you,  as  you  believe  in  your  personal  responsibility  to 
your  Maker,  to  pick  out  of  the  clamouring  crowd  any 
grain  of  spirituality  that  may  lie  therein.  If  to  the 
cure  of  souls  you  add  that  of  bodies,  your  task  will  be 
all  the  more  difficult,  for  the  sick  and  the  maimed  will 
profess  any  and  every  creed  for  the  sake  of  healing,  and 


228         THE  JUDGMENT  OF  DUNGARA 

will  laugh  at  you  because  you  are  simple  enough  to 
believe  them. 

As  the  day  wears  and  the  impetus  of  the  morning 
dies  away,  there  will  come  upon  you  an  overwhelming 
sense  of  the  uselessness  of  your  toil.  This  must  be 
striven  against,  and  the  only  spur  in  your  side  will  be 
the  belief  that  you  are  playing  against  the  Devil  for  the 
living  soul.  It  is  a  great,  a  joyous  belief;  but  he  who 
can  hold  it  unwavering  for  four  and  twenty  consecu- 
tive hours,  must  be  blessed  with  an  abundantly  strong 
physique  and  equable  nerve. 

Ask  the  gray  heads  of  the  Bannockburn  Medical 
Crusade  what  manner  of  life  their  preachers  lead ;  speak 
to  the  Racine  Gospel  Agency,  those  lean  Americans 
whose  boast  is  that  they  go  where  no  Englishman  dare 
follow;  get  a  Pastor  of  the  Tubingen  Mission  to  talk 
of  his  experiences  —  if  you  can.  You  will  be  referred 
to  the  printed  reports,  but  these  contain  no  mention  of 
the  men  who  have  lost  youth  and  health,  all  that  a  man 
may  lose  except  faith,  in  the  wilds ;  of  English  maidens 
who  have  gone  forth  and  died  in  the  fever-stricken 
jungle  of  the  Panth  Hills,  knowing  from  the  first  that 
death  was  almost  a  certainty.  Few  Pastors  will  tell 
you  of  these  things  any  more  than  they  will  speak 
of  that  young  David  of  St.  Bees,  who,  set  apart  for 
the  Lord's  work,  broke  down  in  the  utter  desolation, 
and  returned  half  distraught  to  the  Head  Mission, 
crying:  'There  is  no  God,  but  I  have  walked  with  the 
Devil!' 

The  reports  are  silent  here,  because  heroism,  failure, 
doubt,  despair,  and  self-abnegation  on  the  part  of  a 
mere  cultured  white  man  are  things  of  no  weight  as 
compared  to  the  saving  of  one  half-human  soul  from  a 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  DUNGARA         229 

fantastic  faith  in  wood-spirits,  goblins  of  the  rock,  and 
river-fiends. 

And  Gallic,  the  Assistant  Collector  of  the  country 
side,  *  cared  for  none  of  these  things.'  He  had  been 
long  in  the  district,  and  the  Buria  Kol  loved  him  and 
brought  him  offerings  of  speared  fish,  orchids  from  the 
dim  moist  heart  of  the  forests,  and  as  much  game  as  he 
could  eat.  In  return,  he  gave  them  quinine,  and  with 
Athon  Daze",  the  High  Priest,  controlled  their  simple 
policies, 

'When  you  have  been  some  years  in  the  country,' 
said  Gallic  at  the  Krenks'  table,  '  you  grow  to  find  one 
creed  as  good  as  another.  I'll  give  you  all  the  assist- 
ance in  my  power,  of  course,  but  don't  hurt  my  Buria 
Kol.  They  are  a  good  people  and  they  trust  me.' 

'  I  will  them  the  Word  of  the  Lord  teach,'  said 
Justus,  his  round  face  beaming  with  enthusiasm,  '  and 
I  will  assuredly  to  their  prejudices  no  wrong  hastily 
without  thinking  make.  But,  O  my  friend,  this  in  the 
mind  impartiality-of-creed-judgment-be-looking  is  very 
bad.' 

4  Heigh-ho  !  said  Gallic,  4  I  have  their  bodies  and  the 
district  to  see  to,  but  you  can  try  what  you  can  do  for 
their  souls.  Only  don't  behave  as  your  predecessor 
did,  or  I'm  afraid  that  I  can't  guarantee  your  life.' 

4  And  that  ? '  said  Lotta  sturdily,  handing  him  a  cup 
of  tea. 

4  He  went  up  to  the  Temple  of  Dungara  —  to  be  sure 
he  was  new  to  the  country  —  and  began  hammering  old 
Dungara  over  the  head  with  an  umbrella ;  so  the  Buria 
Kol  turned  out  and  hammered  Mm  rather  savagely.  I 
was  in  the  district,  and  he  sent  a  runner  to  me  with  a 
note  saying :  "  Persecuted  for  the  Lord's  sake.  Send 


230         THE  JUDGMENT  OF  DUNGARA 

wing  of  regiment."  The  nearest  troops  were  about 
two  hundred  miles  off,  but  I  guessed  what  he  had  been 
doing.  I  rode  to  Panth  and  talked  to  old  Athon  Daz6 
like  a  father,  telling  him  that  a  man  of  his  wisdom 
ought  to  have  known  that  the  Sahib  had  sunstroke  and 
was  mad.  You  never  saw  a  people  more  sorry  in  your 
life.  Athon  Daze*  apologised,  sent  wood  and  milk  and 
fowls  and  all  sorts  of  things ;  and  I  gave  five  rupees  to 
the  shrine  and  told  Macnamara  that  he  had  been  inju- 
dicious. He  said  that  I  had  bowed  down  in  the  House 
of  Rimmon ;  but  if  he  had  only  just  gone  over  the  brow 
of  the  hill  and  insulted  Palin  Deo,  the  idol  of  the  Suria 
Kol,  he  would  have  been  impaled  on  a  charred  bamboo 
long  before  I  could  have  done  anything,  and  then  I  should 
have  had  to  have  hanged  some  of  the  poor  brutes.  Be  gen- 
tle with  them,  Padri — but  I  don't  think  you'll  do  much.' 

4  Not  I,'  said  Justus,  '  but  my  Master.  We  will  with 
the  little  children  begin.  Many  of  them  will  be  sick  — 
that  is  so.  After  the  children  the  mothers ;  and  then 
the  men.  But  I  would  greatly  that  you  were  in  inter- 
nal  sympathies  with  us  prefer.' 

Gallio  departed  to  risk  his  life  in  mending  the  rotten 
bamboo  bridges  of  his  people,  in  killing  a  too  persistent 
tiger  here  or  there,  in  sleeping  out  in  the  reeking  jungle, 
or  in  tracking  the  Suria  Kol  raiders  who  had  taken  a 
few  heads  from  their  brethren  of  the  Buria  clan.  He 
was  a  knock-kneed,  shambling  young  man,  naturally 
devoid  of  creed  or  reverence,  with  a  longing  for  abso- 
lute power  which  his  undesirable  district  gratified. 

'No  one  wants  my  post,'  he  used  to  say  grimly,  'and 
my  Collector  only  pokes  his  nose  in  when  he's  quite 
certain  that  there  is  no  fever.  I'm  monarch  of  all  I 
survey,  and  Athon  Daz£  is  my  viceroy.' 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  DUNGARA         231 

Because  Gallio  prided  himself  on  his  supreme  disre- 
gard of  human  life  —  though  he  never  extended  the 
theory  beyond  his  own  —  he  naturally  rode  forty  miles 
to  the  Mission  with  a  tiny  brown  girl-baby  on  his 
saddle-bow. 

'Here  is  something  for  you,  Padri,'  said  he.  'The 
Kols  leave  their  surplus  children  to  die.  'Don't  see 
why  they  shouldn't,  but  you  may  rear  this  one.  I 
picked  it  up  beyond  the  Berbulda  fork.  I've  a  notion 
that  the  mother  has  been  following  me  through  the 
woods  ever  since.' 

'  It  is  the  first  of  the  fold,'  said  Justus,  and  Lotta 
caught  up  the  screaming  morsel  to  her  bosom  and 
hushed  it  craftily ;  while,  as  a  wolf  hangs  in  the  field, 
Matui,  who  had  borne  it  and  in  accordance  with  the 
law  of  her  tribe  had  exposed  it  to  die,  panted  weary 
and  footsore  in  the  bamboo-brake,  watching  the  house 
with  hungry  mother-eyes.  What  would  the  omnipotent 
Assistant  Collector  do?  Would  the  little  man  in  the 
black  coat  eat  her  daughter  alive  as  Athon  Daz6  said 
was  the  custom  of  all  men  in  black  coats  ? 

Matui  waited  among  the  bamboos  through  the  long 
night;  and,  in  the  morning,  there  came  forth  a  fair 
white  woman,  the  like  of  whom  Matui  had  never  seen, 
and  in  her  arms  was  Matui's  daughter  clad  in  spotless 
raiment.  Lotta  knew  little  of  the  tongue  of  the  Buria 
Kol,  but  when  mother  calls  to  mother,  speech  is  easy  to 
follow.  By  the  hands  stretched  timidly  to  the  hem  of 
her  gown,  by  the  passionate  gutturals  and  the  longing 
eyes,  Lotta  understood  with  whom  she  had  to  deal.  So 
Matui  took  her  child  again  —  would  be  a  servant,  even 
a  slave,  to  this  wonderful  white  woman,  for  her  own 
tribe  would  recognise  her  no  more.  And  Lotta  wept 


232  THE  JUDGMENT  OF   DUNGAKA 

with  her  exhaustively,  after  the  German  fashion,  which 
includes  much  blowing  of  the  nose. 

*  First  the  child,  then  the  mother,  and  last  the  man, 
and  to  the  Glory  of  God  all,'  said  Justus  the  HopefuL 
And  the  man  came,  with  a  bow  and  arrows,  very  angry 
indeed,  for  there  was  no  one  to  cook  for  him. 

But  the  tale  of  the  Mission  is  a  long  one,  and  I  have 
no  space  to  show  how  Justus,  forgetful  of  his  injudi- 
cious predecessor,  grievously  smote  Moto,  the  husband 
of  Matui,  for  his  brutality ;  how  Moto  was  startled,  but 
being  released  from  the  fear  of  instant  death,  took 
heart  and  became  the  faithful  ally  and  first  convert  of 
Justus ;  how  the  little  gathering  grew,  to  the  huge  dis- 
gust of  Athon  Daze* ;  how  the  Priest  of  the  God  of 
Things  as  They  Are  argued  subtilely  with  the  Priest 
of  the  God  of  Things  as  They  Should  Be,  and  was 
worsted;  how  the  dues  of  the  Temple  of  Dungara  fell 
away  in  fowls  and  fish  and  honeycomb,  how  Lotta 
lightened  the  Curse  of  Eve  among  the  women,  and  how 
Justus  did  his  best  to  introduce  the  Curse  of  Adam; 
how  the  Buria  Kol  rebelled  at  this,  saying  that  their 
God  was  an  idle  God,  and  how  Justus  partially  over- 
came their  scruples  against  work,  and  taught  them  that 
the  black  earth  was  rich  in  other  produce  than  pig-nuts 
only. 

All  these  things  belong  to  the  history  of  many 
months,  and  throughout  those  months  the  white-haired 
Athon  Dazd  meditated  revenge  for  the  tribal  neglect  of 
Dungara.  With  savage  cunning  he  feigned  friendship 
towards  Justus,  even  hinting  at  his  own  conversion ; 
but  to  the  congregation  of  Dungara  he  said  darkly : 
'They  of  the  Padri's  flock  have  put  on  clothes  :md 
worship  a  busy  God.  Therefore  Dungara  will  aiiiict 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  DUNGARA  233 

them  grievously  till  they  throw  themselves,  howling, 
into  the  waters  of  the  Berbulda.'  At  night  the  Red 
Elephant  Tusk  boomed  and  groaned  among  the  hills, 
and  the  faithful  waked  and  said :  4  The  God  of  Things 
as  They  Are  matures  revenge  against  the  backsliders. 
Be  merciful,  Dungara,  to  us  Thy  children,  and  give  us 
all  their  crops  ! ' 

Late  in  the  cold  weather,  the  Collector  and  his  wife 
came  into  the  Buria  Kol  country.  'Go  and  look  at 
Krenk's  Mission,'  said  Gallic.  '  He  is  doing  good  work 
in  his  own  way,  and  I  think  he'd  be  pleased  if  you 
opened  the  bamboo  chapel  that  he  has  managed  to  run 
up.  At  any  rate  you'll  see  a  civilised  Buria  Kol.' 

Great  was  the  stir  in  the  Mission.  '  Now  he  and  the 
gracious  lady  will  that  we  have  done  good  work  with 
their  own  eyes  see,  and  —  yes  —  we  will  him  our  con- 
verts in  all  their  new  clothes  by  their  own  hands  con- 
structed exhibit.  It  will  a  great  day  be  —  for  the  Lord 
always,'  said  Justus ,  and  Lotta  said  '  Amen.' 

Justus  had,  in  his  quiet  way,  felt  jealous  of  the  Basel 
Weaving  Mission,  his  own  converts  being  unhandy ; 
but  Athon  Daze*  had  latterly  induced  some  of  them  to 
hackle  the  glossy  silky  fibres  of  a  plant  that  grew  plen- 
teously  on  the  Panth  Hills.  It  yielded  a  cloth  white 
and  smooth  almost  as  the  tappa  of  the  South  Seas,  and 
that  day  the  converts  were  to  wear  for  the  first  time 
clothes  made  therefrom.  Justus  was  proud  of  his  work. 

'  They  shall  in  white  clothes  clothed  to  meet  the  Col- 
lector and  his  well-born  lady  come  down,  singing  "  Now 
thank  we  all  our  Grod."  Then  he  will  the  Chapel  open, 
and — yes  —  even  Gallic  to  believe  will  begin.  Stand 
so,  my  children,  two  by  two,  and  —  Lotta,  why  do  they 
thus  themselves  bescratch?  It  is  not  seemly  to  wriggle, 


234  THE  JUDGMENT  OF   DUNGARA 

Nala,  my  child.  The  Collector  will  be  here  and  be 
pained.' 

The  Collector,  his  wife,  and  Gallio  climbed  the  hill 
to  the  Mission-station.  The  converts  were  drawn  up  in 
two  lines,  a  shining  band  nearly  forty  strong.  4  Hah ! ' 
said  the  Collector,  whose  acquisitive  bent  of  mind  led 
him  to  believe  that  he  had  fostered  the  institution  from 
the  first.  '  Advancing,  I  see,  by  leaps  and  bounds.' 

Never  was  truer  word  spoken !  The  Mission  was 
advancing  exactly  as  he  had  said  —  at  first  by  little 
hops  and  shuffles  of  shamefaced  uneasiness,  but  soon  by 
the  leaps  of  fly-stung  horses  and  the  bounds  of  macl< 
dened  kangaroos.  From  the  hill  of  Panth  the  Red 
Elephant  Tusk  delivered  a  dry  and  anguished  blare. 
The  ranks  of  the  converts  wavered,  broke  and  scattered 
with  yells  and  shrieks  of  pain,  while  Justus  and  Lotta 
stood  horror-stricken. 

4  It  is  the  Judgment  of  Dungara ! '  shouted  a  voice. 
4 1  burn !  I  burn  !  To  the  river  or  we  die  ! ' 

The  mob  wheeled  and  headed  for  the  rocks  that  over- 
hung the  Berbulda,  writhing,  stamping,  twisting  and 
shedding  its  garments  as  it  ran,  pursued  by  the  thunder 
of  the  trumpet  of  Dungara.  Justus  and  Lotta  fled  to 
the  Collector  almost  in  tears. 

4 1  cannot  understand!  Yesterday,'  panted  Justus, 
4  they  had  the  Ten  Commandments.  —  What  is  this  ? 
Praise  the  Lord  all  good  spirits  by  land  and  by  sea. 
Nala !  Oh,  shame  ! ' 

With  a  bound  and  a  scream  there  alighted  on  the 
rocks  above  their  heads,  Nala,  once  the  pride  of  the 
Mission,  a  maiden  of  fourteen  summers,  good,  docile, 
and  virtuous  —  now  naked  as  the  dawn  and  spitting  like 
a  wild-cat. 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  DUNGARA  235 

'  Was  it  for  this ! '  she  raved,  burling  her  petticoat  at 
Justus ,  *  was  it  for  this  I  left  my  people  and  Dungara 

—  for  the  fires  of  your  Bad  Place?     Blind  ape,  little 
earthworm,  dried  fish   that  you  are,  you   said   that   I 
should   never  burn !      O   Dungara,  I    burn   now !      I 
burn   now!      Have   mercy,   God   of    Things   as   They 
Are!' 

She  turned  and  flung  herself  into  the  Berbulda,  and 
the  trumpet  of  Dungara  bellowed  jubilantly.  The  last 
of  the  converts  of  the  Tubingen  Mission  had  put  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  rapid  river  between  herself  and  her 
teachers. 

'  Yesterday,'  gulped  Justus,  '  she  taught  in  the  school 
A,  B,  C,  D.  —  Oh !  It  is  the  work  of  Satan ! ' 

But  Gallic  was  curiously  regarding  the  maiden's 
oetticoat  where  it  had  fallen  at  his  feet.  He  felt  its 
texture,  drew  back  his  shirt-sleeve  beyond  the  deep 
tan  of  his  wrist  and  pressed  a  fold  of  the  cloth  against 
the  flesh.  A  blotch  of  angry  red  rose  on  the  white 
skin. 

'Ah  l '  said  Gallio  calmly,  '  I  thought  so.7 

'  What  is  it  ? '  said  Justus. 

'  I  should  call  it  the  Shirt  of  Nessus,  but  —  Where 
did  you  get  the  fibre  of  this  cloth  from  ? ' 

'  Athon  Daze,'  said  Justus.  *  He  showed  the  boys 
how  it  should  manufactured  be.' 

'  The  old  fox !  Do  you  know  that  he  has  given  you 
the  Nilgiri  Nettle  —  scorpion —  Q-irardenia  heterophylla 

—  to  work  up  ?     No  wonder  they  squirmed  !     Why,  it 
stings  even  when  they  make  bridge-ropes  of  it,  unless 
it's   soaked   for  six   weeks.     The    cunning   brute  !     It- 
would  take  about  half  an  hour  to  burn  through  their 
thick  hides,  and  then ! ' 


236  THE  JUDGMENT  OF   DUNGARA 

Gallic  burst  into  laughter,  but  Lotta  was  weeping  in 
the  arms  of  the  Collector's  wife,  and  Justus  had  cov- 
ered his  face  with  his  hands. 

*  Gf-irardenia  heterophylla  ! '  repeated  Gallic.  *  Krenk, 
why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  I  could  have  saved  you  this. 
Woven  fire  !  Anybody  but  a  naked  Kol  would  have 
known  it,  and,  if  I'm  a  judge  of  their  ways,  you'll  never 
get  them  back.' 

He  looked  across  the  river  to  where  the  converts 
were  still  wallowing  and  wailing  in  the  shallows,  and 
the  laughter  died  out  of  his  eyes,  for  he  saw  that  the 
Tubingen  Mission  to  the  Buria  Kol  was  dead. 

Never  again,  though  they  hung  mournfully  round  the 
deserted  school  for  three  months,  could  Lotta  or  Justus 
coax  back  even  the  most  promising  of  their  flock.  No ! 
The  end  of  conversion  was  the  fire  of  the  Bad  Place  — 
fire  that  ran  through  the  limbs  and  gnawed  into  the 
bones.  Who  dare  a  second  time  tempt  the  anger  of 
Dungara?  Let  the  little  man  and  his  wife  go  else- 
where. The  Buria  Kol  would  have  none  of  them.  An 
unofficial  message  to  Athon  Daze"  that  if  a  hair  of 
their  heads  were  touched,  Athon  Daze  and  the  priests 
of  Dungara  would  be  hanged  by  Gallio  at  the  tem- 
ple shrine,  protected  Justus  and  Lotta  from  the  stumpy 
poisoned  arrows  of  the  Buria  Kol,  but  neither  fish  nor 
fowl,  honeycomb,  salt  nor  young  pig  were  brought  to 
their  doors  any  more.  And,  alas !  man  cannot  live  by 
grace  alone  if  meat  be  wanting. 

k  Let  us  go,  mine  wife,'  said  Justus ;  '  there  is  no 
good  here,  and  the  Lord  has  willed  that  some  other 
man  shall  the  work  take  —  in  good  time  —  in  His  own 
good  time.  We  will  go  away,  and  I  will  —  yes  - — some 
botany  bestudy.' 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  DUNGARA        237 

If  any  one  is  anxious  to  convert  the  Buria  Kol  afresh, 
there  lies  at  least  the  core  of  a  mission-house  under  the 
hill  of  Panth.  But  the  chapel  and  school  have  long 
since  fallen  back  into  jungle. 


AT  HOWLI  THANA 

His  own  shoe,  his  own  head.  —  Native  Proverb. 

As  a  messenger,  if  the  heart  of  the  Presence  be 
moved  to  so  great  favour.  And  on  six  rupees. 
Yes,  Sahib,  for  I  have  three  little  little  children  whose 
stomachs  are  always  empty,  and  corn  is  now  but  forty 
pounds  to  the  rupee.  I  will  make  so  clever  a  messen- 
ger that  you  shall  all  day  long  be  pleased  with  me,  and, 
at  the  end  of  the  year,  bestow  a  turban.  I  know  all 
the  roads  of  the  Station  and  many  other  things.  Aha, 
Sahib !  I  am  clever.  Give  me  service.  I  was  afore- 
time in  the  Police.  A  bad  character?  Now  without 
doubt  an  enemy  has  told  this  tale.  Never  was  I  a 
scamp.  I  am  a  man  of  clean  heart,  and  all  my  words 
are  true.  They  knew  this  when  I  was  in  the  Police. 
They  said :  '  Af  zal  Khan  is  a  true  speaker  in  whose 
words  men  may  trust.'  I  am  a  Delhi  Pathan,  Sahib  — 
all  Delhi  Pathans  are  good  men.  You  have  seen  Delhi  ? 
Yes,  it  is  true  that  there  be  many  scamps  among  the 
Delhi  Pat-hans.  How  wise  is  the  Sahib !  Nothing  is 
hid  from  his  eyes,  and  he  will  make  me  his  messenger, 
and  I  will  take  all  his  notes  secretly  and  without  osten- 
tation. Nay,  Sahib,  God  is  my  witness  that  I  meant 
no  evil.  I  have  long  desirsd  to  serve  under  a  true 
Sahib — a  virtuous  Sahib.  Many  young  Sahibs  are  as 
devils  unchained.  With  these  Sahibs  I  would  take  no 

238 


AT  HOWLI  THANA  239 

service — not  though  all  the  stomachs  of  my  little  chil- 
dren were  crying  for  bread. 

Why  am  I  not  still  in  the  Police  ?  I  will  speak  true 
talk.  An  evil  came  to  the  Thana  —  to  Ram  Baksh,  the 
Havildar,  and  Maula  Baksh,  and  Juggut  Ram  and 
Bhim  Singh  and  Suruj  Bui.  Ram  Baksh  is  in  the  jail 
for  a  space,  and  so  also  is  Maula  Baksh. 

It  was  at  the  Thana  of  Howli,  on  the  road  that  leads 
to  Gokral-Stetarun  wherein  are  many  dacoits.  We  were 
all  brave  men  —  Rustums.  Wherefore  we  were  sent  to 
that  Thana  which  was  eight  miles  from  the  next  Thana. 
All  day  and  all  night  "wt  watched  for  dacoits.  Why 
does  the  Sahib  laugh  ?  Nay,  I  will  make  a  confession. 
The  dacoits  were  too  clever,  and,  seeing  this,  we  made 
no  further  trouble.  It  was  in  the  hot  weather.  What 
can  a  man  do  in  the  hot  days  ?  Is  the  Sahib  who  is  so 
strong  —  is  he,  even,  vigorous  in  that  hour?  We  made 
an  arrangement  with  the  dacoits  for  the  sake  of  peace. 
That  was  the  work  of  the  Havildar  who  was  fat.  Ho  ! 
Ho  !  Sahib,  he  is  now  getting  thin  in  the  jail  among  the 
carpets.  The  Havildar  said  :  '  Give  us  no  trouble,  and 
we  will  give  you  no  trouble.  At  the  end  of  the  reap- 
ing send  us  a  man  to  lead  before  the  judge,  a  man  of 
infirm  mind  against  whom  the  trumped-up  case  will 
break  down.  Thus  we  shall  save  our  honour.'  To  this 
talk  the  dacoits  agreed,  and  we  had  no  trouble  at  the 
Thana,  and  could  eat  melons  in  peace,  sitting  upon  our 
charpoys  all  day  long.  Sweet  as  sugar-cane  are  the 
melons  of  Howli. 

Now  there  was  an  assistant  commissioner  —  a  Stunt 
Sahib,  in  that  district,  called  Yunkum  Sahib.  Aha , 
He  was  hard  —  hard  even  as  is  the  Sahib  who,  without 
doubt,  will  give  me  the  shadow  of  his  protection. 


240  AT   HOWLI  THANA 

Many  eyes  had  Yunkum  Sahib,  and  moved  quickly 
through  his  district.  Men  called  him  The  Tiger  of 
Gokral-Seetarun,  because  he  would  arrive  unannounced 
and  make  his  kill,  and,  before  sunset,  would  be  giving 
trouble  to  the  Tehsildars  thirty  miles  away.  No  one 
knew  the  comings  or  the  goings  of  Yunkum  Sahib. 
He  had  no  camp,  and  when  his  horse  was  weary  he 
rode  upon  a  devil-carriage.  I  do  not  know  its  name, 
but  the  Sahib  sat  in  the  midst  of  three  silver  wheels 
that  made  no  creaking,  and  drave  them  with  his  legs, 
prancing  like  a  bean-fed  horse  —  thus.  A  shadow  of  a 
hawk  upon  the  fields  was  not  more  without  noise  than 
the  devil-carriage  of  Yunkum  Sahib.  It  was  here:  it 
was  there:  it  was  gone:  and  the  rapport  was  made, 
and  there  was  trouble.  Ask  the  Tehsildar  of  Rohestri 
how  the  hen-stealing  came  to  be  known,  Sahib. 

It  fell  upon  a  night  that  we  of  the  Thana  slept 
according  to  custom  upon  our  charpoys,  having  eaten 
the  evening  meal  and  drunk  tobacco.  When  we  awoke 
in  the  morning,  behold,  of  our  six  rifles  not  one  re- 
mained! Also,  the  big  Police-book  that  was  in  the 
Havildar's  charge  was  gone.  Seeing  these  things,  we 
were  very  much  afraid,  thinking  on  our  parts  that  the 
dacoits,  regardless  of  honour,  had  come  by  night,  and 
put  us  to  shame.  Then  said  Ram  Baksh,  the  Havildar: 
'  Be  silent !  The  business  is  an  evil  business,  but  it 
may  yet  go  well.  Let  us  make  the  case  complete. 
Bring  a  kid  and  my  tulwar.  See  you  not  now,  O  fools  ? 
A  kick  for  a  horse,  but  a  word  is  enough  for  a  man.' 

We  of  the  Thana,  perceiving  quickly  what  was  in 
the  mind  of  the  Havildar,  and  greatly  fearing  that  the 
service  would  be  lost,  made  haste  to  take  the  kid  into 
the  inner  room,  and  attended  to  the  words  of  the  Hav- 


AT  HOWLI  THANA  241 

ildar.  '  Twenty  dacoits  came,'  said  the  Havildar,  and 
we,  taking  his  words,  repeated  after  him  according  to 
custom.  *  There  was  a  great  fight,'  said  the  Havildar, 
'and  of  us  no  man  escaped  unhurt.  The  bars  of  the 
window  were  broken.  Suruj  Bui,  see  thou  to  that ; 
and,  O  men,  put  speed  into  your  work,  for  a  runner 
must  go  with  the  news  to  The  Tiger  of  Gokral-Seetarun.' 
Thereon,  Suruj  Bui,  leaning  with  his  shoulder,  brake 
in  the  bars  of  the  window,  and  I,  beating  her  with  a 
whip,  made  the  Havildar's  mare  skip  among  the  melon- 
beds  till  they  were  much  trodden  with  hoof -prints. 

These  things  being  made,  I  returned  to  the  Thana, 
and  the  goat  was  slain,  and  certain  portions  of  the 
walls  were  blackened  with  fire,  and  each  man  dipped 
his  clothes  a  little  into  the  blood  of  the  goat.  Know, 

0  Sahib,  that  a  wound  made  by  man  upon  his  own 
body  can,  by  those  skilled,  be  easily  discerned  from  a 
wound  wrought  by  another  man.     Therefore,  the  Hav- 
ildar, taking  his  tulwar,  smote  one  of  us  lightly  on  the 
forearm  in  the  fat,  and  another  on  the  leg,  and  a  third 
on  the  back  of  the  hand.     Thus  dealt  he  with  all  of  us 
till  the  blood  came  ;  and  Suruj  Bui,  more  eager  than 
the  others,  took  out  much  hair.     O  Sahib,  never  was 
so  perfect  an  arrangement.     Yea,  even  I  would  have 
sworn  that  the  Thana  had  been    treated   as  we   said. 
There  was  smoke  and  breaking  and  blood  and  trampled 
earth. 

'  Ride  now,  Maula  Baksh,'  said  the  Havildar,  '  to  the 
house  of  the  Stunt  Sahib,  and  carry  the  nev.'s  of  the 
dacoity.  Do  you  also,  O  Afzal  Khan,  run  there,  and 
take  heed  that  you  are  mired  with  sweat  and  dust  on 
your  in-coming.  The  blood  will  be  dry  on  the  clothes. 

1  will  stay  and   send  a  straight  report   to   the  Dipty 


242  AT  HOWLI  THANA 

Sahib,  and  we  will  catch  certain  that  ye  know  of,  villa- 
gers, so  that  all  may  be  ready  against  the  Dipty  Sahib's 
arrival.' 

Thus  Maula  Baksh  rode  and  I  ran  hanging  on  the 
stirrup,  and  together  we  came  in  an  evil  plight  before 
The  Tiger  of  Gokral-Seetarun  in  the  Rohestri  tehsil. 
Our  tale  was  long  and  correct,  Sahib,  for  we  gave  even 
the  names  of  the  dacoits  and  the  issue  of  the  fight  and 
besought  him  to  come.  But  The  Tiger  made  no  sign, 
and  only  smiled  after  the  manner  of  Sahibs  when  they 
have  a  wickedness  in  their  hearts.  '  Swear  ye  to  the 
rapport  ? '  said  he,  and  we  said  :  *  Thy  servants  swear. 
The  blood  of  the  fight  is  but  newly  dry  upon  us. 
Judge  thou  if  it  be  the  blood  of  the  servants  of  the 
Presence,  or  not.'  And  he  said  :  '  I  see.  Ye  have 
done  well.'  But  he  did  not  call  for  his  horse  or  his 
devil-carriage,  and  scour  the  land  as  was  his  custom. 
He  said  :  '  Rest  now  and  eat  bread,  for  ye  be  wearied 
men.  I  will  wait  the  coming  of  the  Dipty  Sahib.' 

Now  it  is  the  order  that  the  Havildar  of  the  Thana 
should  send  a  straight  report  of  all  dacoities  to  the 
Dipty  Sahib.  At  noon  came  he,  a  fat  man  and  an  old, 
and  overbearing  withal,  but  we  of  the  Thana  had  no 
fear  of  his  anger  :  dreading  more  the  silences  of  The 
Tiger  of  Gokral-Seetarun.  With  him  came  Ram 
Baksh,  the  Havildar,  and  the  others,  guarding  ten  men 
of  the  village  of  Howli  —  all  men  evil  affected  towards 
the  Police  of  the  Sirkar.  As  prisoners  they  came,  the 
irons  upon  their  hands,  crying  for  mercy  —  Imam 
Baksh,  the  farmer,  who  had  denied  his  wife  to  the 
Havildar,  and  others,  ill-conditioned  rascals  against 
whom  we  of  the  Thana  bore  spite.  It  was  well  done, 
and  the  Havildar  was  proud.  But  the  Dipty  Sahib 


'AT  HOWLI  THANA  243 

was  angry  with  the  Stunt  for  lack  of  zeal,  and  said 
'Dam-Dam'  after  the  custom  of  the  English  people, 
and  extolled  the  Havildar.  Yunkum  Sahib  lay  still  in 
his  long  chair.  '  Have  the  men  sworn  ? '  said  Yunkum 
Sahib.  'Aye,  and  captured  ten  evildoers,'  said  the 
Dipty  Sahib.  '  There  be  more  abroad  in  your  charge. 
Take  horse  —  ride,  and  go  in  the  name  of  the  Sirkar! 
'Truly  there  be  more  evildoers  abroad,'  said  Yunkum 
Sahib,  '  but  there  is  no  need  of  a  horse.  Come  all  men 
with  me.' 

I  saw  the  mark  of  a  string  on  the  temples  of  Imam 
Baksh.  Does  the  Presence  know  the  torture  of  the 
Cold  Draw  ?  I  saw  also  the  face  of  The  Tiger  of 
Gokral-Seetarun,  the  evil  smile  was  upon  it,  and  I 
stood  back  ready  for  what  might  befall.  Well  it  was, 
Sahib,  that  I  did  this  thing.  Yunkum  Sahib  unlocked 
the  door  of  his  bath-room,  and  smiled  anew.  Within 
lay  the  six  rifles  and  the  big  Police-book  of  the  Thana 
of  Howli  !  He  had  come  by  night  in  the  devil-carriage 
that  is  noiseless  as  a  ghoul,  and  moving  among  us 
asleep,  had  taken  away  both  the  guns  and  the  book ! 
Twice  had  he  come  to  the  Thana,  taking  each  time 
three  rifles.  The  liver  of  the  Havildar  was  turned  to 
water,  and  he  fell  scrabbling  in  the  dirt  about  the  boots 
of  Yunkum  Sahib,  crying  —  '  Have  mercy! ' 

And  I?  Sahib,  I  am  a  Delhi  Pathan,  and  a  young 
man  with  little  children.  The  Havildar's  mare  was  in 
the  compound.  I  ran  to  her  and  rode :  the  black  wrath 
of  the  Sirkar  was  behind  me,  and  I  knew  not  whither 
to  go.  Till  she  dropped  and  died  I  rode  the  red  mare  ; 
and  by  the  blessing  of  God,  who  is  without  doubt  on 
the  side  of  all  just  men,  I  escaped.  But  the  Havildar 
and  the  rest  are  no\v  in  jail. 


244  AT  HOWLI  THANA 

I  am  a  scamp  ?  It  is  as  the  Presence  pleases.  God 
will  make  the  Presence  a  Lord,  and  give  him  a  rich 
Memsahib  as  fair  as  a  Peri  to  wife,  and  many  strong 
sons,  if  he  makes  me  his  orderly.  The  Mercy  of  Heaven 
be  upon  the  Sahib !  Yes,  I  will  only  go  to  the  bazar 
and  bring  my  children  to  these  so-palace-like  quar- 
ters, and  then  —  the  Presence  is  my  Father  and  my 
Mother,  and  I,  Afzal  Khan,  am  his  slave. 

Ohe,  Sirdar-ji !  I  also  am  of  the  household  of  the 
Sahib. 


GEMINI 

Great  is  the  justice  of  the  White  Man  —  greater  the  power  of  ? 
lie.  —  Native  Proverb. 

THIS  is  your  English  Justice,  Protector  of  the  Poor. 
Look  at  my  back  and  loins  which  are  beaten  with 
sticks  —  heavy  sticks  I  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  there  is 
no  justice  in  Courts. 

There  were  two  of  us,  and  we  were  born  of  one 
birth,  but  I  swear  to  you  that  I  was  born  the  first,  and 
Ram  Dass  is  the  younger  by  three  full  breaths.  The 
astrologer  said  so,  and  it  is  written  in  my  horoscope  — 
the  horoscope  of  Durga  Dass. 

But  we  were  alike  —  I  and  my  brother  who  is  a 
beast  without  honour  —  so  alike  that  none  knew,  to- 
gether or  apart,  which  was  Durga  Dass.  I  am  a  Maha- 
jun  of  Pali  in  Marwar,  and  an  honest  man.  This  is  true 
talk.  When  we  were  men,  we  left  our  father's  house  in 
Pali,  and  went  to  the  Punjab,  where  all  the  people  are 
mud-heads  and  sons  of  asses.  We  took  shop  together  in 
Isser  Jang  —  1  and  my  brother  —  near  the  big  well 
where  the  Governor's  camp  draws  water.  But  Ram 
Dass,  who  is  without  truth,  made  quarrel  with  me,  and 
we  were  divided.  He  took  his  books,  and  his  pots,  and 
his  Mark,  and  became  a  bunnia  —  a  money-lender  —  in 
the  long  street  of  Isser  Jang,  near  the  gateway  of  the 
road  that  goes  to  Montgomery.  It  was  not  my  fault  that 
we  pulled  each  other's  turbans.  I  am  a  Mahajun  of  Pali, 

245 


246  GEMINI 

and  I  always  speak  true  talk.     Ram  Dass  was  the  f 
and  the  liar. 

Now  no  man,  not  even  the  little  children,  could  a*" 
one  glance  see  which  was  Ram  Dass  and  which  \:n 
Durga  Dass.  But  all  the  people  of  Isser  Jang — mr, 
they  die  without  sons !  —  said  that  we  were  thieves. 
They  used  much  bad  talk,  but  I  took  money  on  thai- 
bedsteads  and  their  cooking-pots  and  the  standing  crop 
and  the  calf  unborn,  from  the  well  in  the  big  sqaare  to 
the  gate  of  the  Montgomery  road.  They  were  fools, 
these  people  —  unfit  to  cut  the  toe-nails  of  a  Marwari 
from  Pali.  I  lent  money  to  them  all.  A  little,  very 
little  only  —  here  a  pice  and  there  a  pice.  God  is  my 
witness  that  I  am  a  poor  man !  The  money  is  all 
with  Ram  Dass  —  may  his  sons  turn  Christian,  and  his 
daughter  be  a  burning  fire  and  a  shame  in  the  house 
from  generation  to  generation !  May  she  die  unwed, 
and  be  the  mother  of  a  multitude  of  bastards  I  Let  the 
light  go  out  in  the  house  of  Ram  Dass,  my  brother. 
This  I  pray  daily  twice  —  with  offerings  and  charms. 

Thus  the  trouble  began.  We  divided  the  town  of 
Isser  Jang  between  us  —  I  and  my  brother.  There  was 
a  landholder  beyond  the  gates,  living  but  one  short 
mile  out,  on  the  road  that  leads  to  Montgomery,  and 
his  name  was  Muhammad  Shah,  son  of  a  Nawab.  He 
was  a  great  devil  and  drank  wine.  So  long  as  there 
were  women  in  his  house,  and  wine  and  money  for  the 
marriage-feasts,  he  was  merry  and  wiped  his  mouth. 
Ram  Dass  lent  him  the  money,  a  lakh  or  half  a  lakh  — 
how  do  I  know  ?  —  and  so  long  as  the  money  was  lent, 
the  landholder  cared  not  what  he  signed. 

The  people  of  Isser  Jang  were  my  portion,  and  the 
landholder  and  the  out-town  was  the  portion  of  Ram 


GEMINI  247 

Dass;  for  so  we  had  arranged.  I  was  the  poor  man, 
for  the  people  of  Isser  Jang  were  without  wealth.  I 
did  what  I  could,  but  Ram  Dass  had  only  to  wait  with- 
out the  door  of  the  landholder's  garden-court,  and  to 
lend  him  the  money ;  taking  the  bonds  from  the  hand 
of  the  steward. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  after  the  lending,  Ram 
Dass  said  to  the  landholder :  '  Pay  me  my  money,'  but 
the  landholder  gave  him  abuse.  But  Ram  Dass  went 
into  the  Courts  with  the  papers  and  the  bonds  —  all 
correct  —  and  took  out  decrees  against  the  landholder ; 
and  the  name  of  the  Government  was  across  the  stamps 
of  the  decrees.  Ram  Dass  took  field  by  field,  and 
mango-tree  by  mango-tree,  and  well  by  well;  putting 
in  his  own  men  —  debtors  of  the  out-town  of  Isser  Jang 
—  to  cultivate  the  crops.  So  he  crept  up  across  the 
land,  for  he  had  the  papers,  and  the  name  of  the  Gov- 
ernment was  across  the  stamps,  till  his  men  held  the 
crops  for  him  on  all  sides  of  the  big  white  house  of  the 
landholder.  It  was  well  done ;  but  when  the  land- 
holder saw  these  things  he  was  very  angry  and  cursed 
Ram  Dass  after  the  manner  of  the  Muhammadans. 

And  thus  the  landholder  was  angry,  but  Ram  Dass 
laughed  and  claimed  more  fields,  as  was  written  upon 
the  bonds.  This  was  in  the  month  of  Phagun.  I  took 
my  horse  and  went  out  to  speak  to  the  man  who  makes 
lac-bangles  upon  the  road  that  leads  to  Montgomery, 
because  he  owed  me  a  debt.  There  was  in  front  of  me, 
upon  his  horse,  my  brother  Ram  Dass.  And  when  he 
saw  me,  he  turned  aside  into  the  high  crops,  because 
there  was  hatred  between  us.  And  I  went  forward  till 
I  came  to  the  orange-bushes  by  the  landholder's  house. 
The  bats  were  flying,  and  the  evening  smoke  was  low 


248  GEMINI 

down  upon  the  land.  Here  met  me  four  men — swash- 
bucklers and  Muhammadans  —  with  their  faces  bound 
up,  laying  hold  of  my  horse's  bridle  and  crying  out : 
4  This  is  Ram  Dass !  Beat ! '  Me  they  beat  with  their 
staves  —  heavy  staves  bound  about  with  wire  at  the 
end,  such  weapons  as  those  swine  of  Punjabis  use  — 
till,  having  cried  for  mercy,  I  fell  down  senseless.  But 
these  shameless  ones  still  beat  me,  saying:  'O  Ram 
Dass,  this  is  your  interest  —  well  weighed  and  counted 
into  your  hand,  Ram  Dass.'  I  cried  aloud  that  I  was 
not  Ram  Dass  but  Durga  Dass,  his  brother,  yet  they 
only  beat  me  the  more,  and  when  I  could  make  no 
more  outcry  they  left  me.  But  I  saw  their  faces. 
There  was  Elahi  Baksh  who  runs  by  the  side  of  the 
landholder's  white  horse,  and  Nur  Ali  the  keeper  of  the 
door,  and  Wajib  Ali  the  very  strong  cook,  and  Abdul 
Latif  the  messenger  —  all  of  the  household  of  the  land- 
holder. These  things  I  can  swear  on  the  Cow's  Tail 
if  need  be,  but  —  Alii!  AM!  —  it  has  been  already 
sworn,  and  I  am  a  poor  man  whose  honour  is  lost. 

When  these  four  had  gone  away  laughing,  my  brother 
Ram  Dass  came  out  of  the  crops  and  mourned  over  me 
as  one  dead.  But  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  prayed  him 
to  get  me  water.  When  I  had  drunk,  he  carried  me  on 
his  back,  and  by  byways  brought  me  into  the  town  of 
Isser  Jang.  My  heart  was  turned  to  Ram  Dass,  my 
brother,  in  that  hour,  because  of  his  kindness,  and  I 
lost  my  enmity 

But  a  snake  is  a  snake  till  it  is  dead ;  and  a  liar  is  a 
liar  till  the  Judgment  of  the  Gods  takes  hold  of  his 
heel.  I  was  wrong  in  that  I  trusted  my  brother  -  the 
son  of  my  mother. 

When  we  had  come  to  his  house  and  I  was  a  little 


GEMINI  249 

restored,  I  told  him  my  tale,  and  he  said:  'Without 
doubt  it  is  me  whom  they  would  have  beaten.  But  the 
Law  Courts  are  open,  and  there  is  the  Justice  of  the 
Sirkar  above  all;  and  to  the  Law  Courts  do  thou  go 
when  this  sickness  is  overpast.' 

Now  when  we  two  had  left  Pali  in  the  old  years, 
there  fell  a  famine  that  ran  from  Jeysulmir  to  Gurgaon 
and  touched  Gogunda  in  the  south.  At  that  time  the 
sister  of  my  father  came  away  and  lived  with  us  in  Isser 
Jang  j  for  a  man  must  above  all  see  that  his  folk  do  not 
die  of  want.  When  the  quarrel  between  us  twain  came 
about,  the  sister  of  my  father  —  a  lean  she-dog  without 
teeth —  said  that  Ram  Dass  had  the  right,  and  went  with 
him.  Into  her  hands  —  because  she  knew  medicines 
and  many  cures  —  Ram  Dass,  my  brother,  put  me  faint 
with  the  beating,  and  much  bruised  even  to  the  pouring 
of  blood  from  the  mouth.  When  I  had  two  days'  sick- 
ness the  fever  came  upon  me  ;  and  I  set  aside  the  fever 
to  the  account  written  in  my  mind  against  the  land- 
holder. 

The  Punjabis  of  Isser  Jang  are  all  the  sons  of  Belial 
and  a  she-ass,  but  they  are  very  good  witnesses,  bearing 
testimony  unshakingly  whatever  the  pleaders  may  say. 
I  would  purchase  witnesses  by  the  score,  and  each  man 
should  give  evidence,  not  only  against  Nur  Ali,  Wajib 
Ali,  Abdul  Latif  and  Elahi  Baksh,  but  against  the  land- 
holder, saying  that  he  upon  his  white  horse  had  called 
his  men  to  beat  me ;  and,  further,  that  they  had  robbed 
me  of  two  hundred  rupees.  For  the  latter  testimony, 
I  would  remit  a  little  of  the  debt  of  the  man  who  sold 
the  lac-bangles,  and  he  should  say  that  he  had  put  the 
money  into  my  hands,  and  had  seen  the  robbery  from 
afar,  but,  being  afraid,  had  run  away.  This  plan  I  told 


260  GEMINI 

to  my  brother  Ram  Dass ;  and  he  said  that  the  arrange, 
ment  was  good,  and  bade  me  take  comfort  and  make 
swift  work  to  be  abroad  again.  My  heart  was  opened 
to  my  brother  in  my  sickness,  and  I  told  him  the  names 
of  those  whom  I  would  call  as  witnesses  —  all  men  in 
my  debt,  but  of  that  the  Magistrate  Sahib  could  have 
no  knowledge,  nor  the  landholder.  The  fever  stayed 
with  me,  and  after  the  fever,  I  was  taken  with  colic, 
and  gripings  very  terrible.  In  that  day  I  thought  that 
my  end  was  at  hand,  but  I  know  now  that  she  who 
gave  me  the  medicines,  the  sister  of  my  father  —  a 
widow  with  a  widow's  heart  —  had  brought  about  my 
second  sickness.  Ram  Dass,  my  brother,  said  that  my 
house  was  shut  and  locked,  and  brought  me  the  big 
door-key  and  my  books,  together  with  all  the  moneys 
that  were  in  my  house  —  even  the  money  that  was 
buried  under  the  floor;  for  I  was  in  great  fear  lest 
thieves  should  break  in  and  dig.  I  speak  true  talk; 
there  was  but  very  little  money  in  my  house.  Perhaps 
ten  rupees  —  perhaps  twenty.  How  can  I  tell?  God 
is  my  witness  that  I  am  a  poor  man. 

One  night,  when  I  had  told  Ram  Dass  all  that  was  in 
my  heart  of  the  lawsuit  that  I  would  bring  against  the 
landholder,  and  Ram  Dass  had  said  that  he  had  made 
the  arrangements  with  the  witnesses,  giving  me  their 
names  written,  I  was  taken  with  a  new  great  sickness, 
and  they  put  me  on  the  bed.  When  I  was  a  little  re- 
covered—  I  cannot  tell  how  many  days  afterwards  —I 
made  enquiry  for  Ram  Dass,  and  the  sister  of  my  father 
said  that  he  had  gone  to  Montgomery  upon  a  lawsuit. 
I  took  medicine  and  slept  very  heavily  without  waking. 
When  my  eyes  were  opened,  there  was  a  great  stillness 
in  the  house  of  Ram  Dass,  and  none  answered  when  I 


GEMINI  251 

called  —  not  even  the  sister  of  my  father.  This  filled 
me  with  fear,  for  I  knew  not  what  had  happened. 

Taking  a  stick  in  my  hand,  I  went  out  slowly,  till  I 
came  to  the  great  square  by  the  well,  and  my  heart  was 
hot  in  me  against  the  landholder  because  of  the  pain  of 
every  step  I  took. 

I  called  for  Jowar  Singh,  the  carpenter,  whose 
name  was  first  upon  the  list  of  those  who  should 
bear  evidence  against  the  landholder,  saying:  'Are 
all  things  ready,  and  do  you  know  what  should  be 
said?' 

Jowar  Singh  answered :  *  What  is  this,  and  whence 
do  you  come,  Durga  Dass  ? ' 

I  said :  '  From  my  bed,  where  I  have  so  long  lain 
sick  because  of  the  landholder.  Where  is  Ram  Dass, 
my  brother,  who  was  to  have  made  the  arrangement 
for  the  witnesses?  Surely  you  and  yours  know  these 
things ! ' 

Then  Jowar  Singh  said :  '  What  has  this  to  do  with 
as,  O  Liar?  I  have  borne  witness  and  I  have  been 
paid,  and  the  landholder  has,  by  the  order  of  the  Court, 
paid  both  the  five  hundred  rupees  that  he  robbed  from 
Ram  Dass  and  yet  other  five  hundred  because  of  the 
great  injury  he  did  to  your  brother.' 

The  well  and  the  jujube-tree  above  it  and  the  square 
of  Isser  Jang  became  dark  in  my  eyes,  but  I  leaned  on 
my  stick  and  said :  '  Nay !  This  is  child's  talk  and 
senseless.  It  was  I  who  suffered  at  the  hands  of  the 
landholder,  and  I  am  come  to  make  ready  the  case. 
Where  is  my  brother  Ram  Dass?' 

But  Jowar  Singh  shook  his  head,  and  a  woman  cried : 
'What  lie  is  here?  What  quarrel  had  the  landholder 
with  you,  bunnia?  It  is  only  a  shameless  one  and  on& 


252  GEMINI 

without  faith  who  profits  bj  his  brother's  smarts.  Have 
these  bunnias  no  bowels  ? ' 

I  cried  again,  saying:  'By  the  Cow  —  by  the  Oath 
of  the  Cow,  by  the  Temple  of  the  Blue-throated  Maha- 
deo,  I  and  I  only  was  beaten  —  beaten  to  the  death! 
Let  your  talk  be  straight,  O  people  of  Isser  Jang,  and 
I  will  pay  for  the  witnesses.'  And  I  tottered  where  I 
stood,  for  the  sickness  amd  the  pain  of  the  beating  were 
heavy  upon  me. 

Then  Ram  Narain,  who  has  his  carpet  spread  under 
the  jujube-tree  by  the  well,  and  writes  all  letters  for  the 
men  of  the  town,  came  up  and  said :  '  To-day  is  the 
one  and  fortieth  day  since  the  beating,  and  since  these 
six  days  the  case  has  been  judged  in  the  Court,  and  the 
Assistant  Commissioner  Sahib  has  gi.von  it  for  your 
brother  Ram  Dass,  allowing  the  robbery,  to  which,  too, 
I  bore  witness,  and  all  tilings  else  as  the  witnesses  said. 
There  were  many  witnesses,  and  twice  Ram  Dass  became 
senseless  in  the  Court  because  of  his  wounds,  and  the 
Stunt  Sahib  —  the  baba  Stunt  Sahib  —  gave  him  a  chair 
before  all  the  pleaders.  Why  do  you  howl,  Durga 
Dass?  These  things  fell  as  I  have  said.  Was  it  not 
so?' 

And  Jowar  Singh  said:  'That  is  truth.  I  was 
there,  and  there  was  a  red  cushion  in  the  chair.' 

And  Ram  Narain  said :  4  Great  shame  has  come  upon 
the  landholder  because  of  this  judgment,  and  fear 
ing  his  anger,  Ram  Dass  and  all  his  house  have  gone 
back  to  Pali.  Ram  Dass  told  us  that  you  also  had  gone 
first,  the  enmity  being  healed  between  you,  to  open  a 
shop  in  Pali.  Indeed,  it  were  well  for  you  that  you  go 
even  now,  for  the  landholder  has  sworn  that  if  he  catch 
any  one  of  your  house,  he  will  hang  him  by  the  heels 


GEMINI  253 

from  the  well-beam,  and,  swinging  him  to  and  fro,  will 
beat  him  with  staves  till  the  blood  runs  from  his  ears. 
What  I  have  said  in  respect  to  the  case  is  true,  as  these 
men  here  can  testify  —  even  to  the  five  hundred  rupees.' 

I  said :  4  Was  it  five  hundred? '  And  Kirpa  Ram,  the 
jat,  said :  '  Five  hundred ;  for  I  bore  witness  also.' 

And  I  groaned,  for  it  had  been  in  my  heart  to  have 
said  two  hundred  only. 

Then  a  new  fear  came  upon  me  and  my  bowels 
turned  to  water,  and,  running  swiftly  to  the  house  of 
Ram  Dass,  I  sought  for  my  books  and  my  money  in 
the  great  wooden  chest  under  my  bedstead.  There 
remained  nothing :  not  even  a  cowrie's  value.  All  had 
been  taken  by  the  devil  who  said  he  was  my  brother. 
I  went  to  my  own  house  also  and  opened  the  boards  of 
the  shutters;  but  there  also  was  nothing  save  the  rats 
among  the  grain-baskets.  In  that  hour  my  senses  left 
me,  and,  tearing  my  clothes,  I  ran  to  the  well-place,  cry- 
ing out  for  the  Justice  of  the  English  on  my  brother 
Ram  Dass,  and,  in  my  madness,  telling  all  that  the 
books  were  lost.  When  men  saw  that  I  would  have 
jumped  down  the  well,  they  believed  the  truth  of  my 
talk ;  more  especially  because  upon  my  back  and  bosom 
were  still  the  marks  of  the  staves  of  the  landholder. 

Jowar  Singh  the  carpenter  withstood  me,  and  turn- 
ing me  in  his  hands — for  he  is  a  very  strong  man — • 
showed  the  scars  upon  my  body,  and  bowed  down  with 
laughter  upon  the  well-curb.  He  cried  aloud  so  that 
all  heard  him,  from  the  well-square  to  the  Caravanserai 
of  the  Pilgrims  :  '  Oho  !  The  jackals  have  quarrelled, 
and  the  gray  one  has  been  caught  in  the  trap.  In 
truth,  this  man  has  been  grievously  beaten,  and  his 
brother  has  taken  the  money  which  the  Court  decreed! 


254  GEMINI 

Oh,  bunnia,  this  shall  be  told  for  years  against  you! 
The  jackals  have  quarrelled,  and,  moreover,  the  books 
are  burned.  O  people  indebted  to  Durga  Dass  —  and  I 
know  that  ye  be  many  —  the  books  are  burned ! ' 

Then  all  Isser  Jang  took  up  the  cry  that  the  books 
were  burned  —  Ahif  Ahi!  that  in  my  folly  I  had  let 
that  escape  my  mouth — and  they  laughed  throughout 
the  city.  They  gave  me  the  abuse  of  the  Punjabi, 
which  is  a  terrible  abuse  and  very  hot ;  pelting  me  also 
with  sticks  and  cow-dung  till  I  fell  down  and  cried  for 
mercy. 

Ram  Narain,  the  letter-writer,  bade  the  people  cease, 
for  fear  that  the  news  should  get  into  Montgomery,  and 
the  Policemen  might  come  down  to  enquire.  He  said, 
using  many  bad  words  :  '  This  much  mercy  will  I  do  to 
you,  Durga  Dass,  though  there  was  no  mercy  in  your 
dealings  with  my  sister's  son  over  the  matter  of  the 
dun  heifer.  Has  any  man  a  pony  on  which  he  sets  no 
store,  that  this  fellow  may  escape  ?  If  the  landholder 
hears  that  one  of  the  twain  (and  God  knows  whether 
he  beat  one  or  both,  but  this  man  is  certainly  beaten) 
be  in  the  city,  there  will  be  a  murder  done,  and  then 
will  come  the  Police,  making  inquisition  into  each 
man's  house  and  eating  the  sweet-seller's  stuff  all  day 
long.7 

Kirpa  Ram,  the  jat,  said :  '  I  have  a  pony  very  sick. 
But  witli  beating  he  can  be  made  to  walk  for  two  miles. 
If  he  dies,  the  hide-sellers  will  have  the  body.' 

Then  Chumbo,  the  hide-seller,  said  :  '  I  will  pay  three 
annas  for  the  body,  and  will  walk  by  this  man's  side  till 
such  time  as  the  pony  dies.  If  it  be  more  than  two 
miles,  I  will  pay  two  annas  only.' 

Kirpa  Ram,  said :  4  Be  it  so.'     Men  brought  out  the 


GEMINI  '255 

pony,  and  I  asked  leave  to  draw  a  little  water  from  the 
well,  because  I  was  dried  up  with  fear. 

Then  Ram  Narain  said :  '  Here  be  four  annas.  God 
has  brought  you  very  low,  Durga  Dass,  and  I  would  not 
send  you  away  empty,  even  though  the  matter  of  my 
sister's  son's  dun  heifer  be  an  open  sore  between  us. 
It  is  a  long  way  to  your  own  country.  Go,  and  if  it  be 
so  willed,  live ;  but,  above  all,  do  not  take  the  pony's 
bridle,  for  that  is  mine.' 

And  I  went  out  of  Isser  Jang,  amid  the  laughing  of 
the  huge-thighed  Jats,  and  the  hide-seller  walked  by 
my  side  waiting  for  the  pony  to  fall  dead.  In  one  mile 
it  died,  and  being  full  of  fear  of  the  landholder,  I  ran 
till  I  could  run  no  more  and  came  to  this  place. 

But  I  swear  by  the  Cow,  I  swear  by  all  things 
whereon  Hindus  and  Musalmans,  and  even  the  Sahibs 
swear,  that  I,  and  not  my  brother,  was  beaten  by  the 
landholder.  But  the  case  is  shut  and  the  doors  of  the 
Law  Courts  are  shut,  and  God  knows  where  the  baba 
Stunt  Sahib  —  the  mother's  milk  is  not  yet  dry  upon 
his  hairless  lip  —  is  gone.  Alii!  Ahi !  I  have  no 
witnesses,  and  the  scars  will  heal,  and  I  am  a  poor  man. 
But,  on  my  Father's  S^ul,  on  the  oath  of  a  Mahajun 
from  Pali,  I,  and  not  my  brother,  I  was  beaten  by  the 
landholder  ! 

What  can  I  do  ?  The  Justice  of  the  English  is  as  a 
great  river.  Having  gone  forward,  it  does  not  return. 
Howbeit,  do  you,  Sahib,  take  a  pen  and  write  clearry 
what  I  have  said,  that  the  Dipty  Sahib  may  see,  and 
reprove  the  Stunt  Sahib,  who  is  a  colt  yet  unlicked  by 
the  mare,  so  young  is  he.  I,  and  not  my  brother,  was 
beaten,  and  he  is  gone  to  the  west  —  I  do  not  know 
where. 


266  GEMINI 

But,  above  all  things,  write  —  so  that  Sahibs  may 
read,  and  his  disgrace  be  accomplished  —  that  Ram 
Dass,  my  brother,  son  of  Purun  Dass,  Mahajun  of  Pali, 
is  a  swine  and  a  night-thief,  a  taker  of  life,  an  eater  of 
flesh,  a  jackal-spawn  without  beauty,  or  faith,  or  clean 
liness,  or  honour ! 


AT  TWENTY-TWO 

Narrow  as  the  womb,  deep  as  the  Pit,  and  dark  as  the  heart  of 
a  man.  —  Sonthal  Jft'ner'*  Proverb. 

*  A  WEAVER  went  out  to  reap  but  stayed  to  unravel 
the  corn-stalks.  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Is  there  any  sense 
in  a  weaver?' 

Janki  Meah  glared  at  Kundoo,  but,  as  Janki  Meah 
was  blind,  Kundoo  was  not  impressed.  He  had  come 
to  argue  with  Janki  Meah,  and,  if  chance  favoured,  to 
make  love  to  the  old  man's  pretty  young  wife. 

This  was  Kundoo's  grievance,  and  he  spoke  in  the 
name  of  all  the  five  men  who,  with  Janki  Meah,  com- 
posed tne  gang  in  Number  Seven  gallery  of  Twenty- 
Two.  Janki  Meah  had  been  blind  for  the  thirty  years 
during  which  he  had  served  the  Jimahari  Collieries 
with  pick  and  crowbar.  All  through  those  thirty  years 
he  had  regularly,  every  morning  before  going  down, 
drawn  from  the  overseer  his  allowance  of  lamp-oil  — 
just  as  if  he  had  been  an  eyed  miner.  What  Kundoo's 
gang  resented,  as  hundreds  of  gangs  had  resented 
before,  was  Janki  Meah's  selfishness.  He  would  not 
add  the  oil  to  the  common  stock  of  his  gang,  but  would 
save  and  sell  it. 

4 1  knew  these  workings  before  you  were  born,'  Janki 
Meah  used  to  reply  t  '  I  don't  want  the  light  to  get  my 
coal  out  by,  and  I  am  not  going  to  help  you.  The  oil 
is  mine,  and  I  intend  to  keep  it.' 

»  257 


258  AT  TWENTY-TWO 

A  strange  man  in  many  ways  was  Janki  Meali,  the 
white-haired,  hot-tempered,  sightless  weaver  who  had 
turned  pitman.  All  day  long  —  except  on  Sundays 
and  Mondays  when  he  was  usually  drunk  —  he  worked 
in  the  Twenty  Two  shaft  of  the  Jimahari  Colliery  as 
cleverly  as  a  man  with  all  the  senses.  At  evening  he 
went  up  in  the  great  steam-hauled  cage  to  the  pit-bank, 
and  there  called  for  his  pony — a  rusty,  coal-dusty 
beast,  nearly  as  old  as  Janki  Meah.  The  pony  would 
come  to  his  side,  and  Janki  Meah  would  clamber  on  to 
its  back  and  be  taken  at  once  to  the  plot  of  land  which 
he,  like  the  other  miners,  received  from  the  Jimahari 
Company,  The  pony  knew  that  place,  and  when,  after 
six  years,  the  Company  changed  all  the  allotments  to 
prevent  the  miners  from  acquiring  proprietary  rights, 
Janki  Meah  represented,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that 
were  his  holding  shifted,  he  would  never  be  able  to  find 
his  way  to  the  new  one.  '  My  horse  only  knows  that 
place,'  pleaded  Janki  Meah,  and  so  he  was  allowed  to 
keep  his  land. 

On  the  strength  of  this  concession  and  his  accumu 
lated  oil-savings,  Janki  Meah  took  a  second  wife  —  a 
girl  of  the  Jolaha  main  stock  of  the  Meahs,  and  singu- 
larly beautiful.  Janki  Meah  could  not  see  her  beauty ; 
wherefore  he  took  her  on  trust,  and  forbade  her  to  go 
down  the  pit.  He  had  not  worked  for  thirty  years 
in  the  dark  without  knowing  that  the  pit  was  no  place 
for  pretty  women.  He  loaded  her  with  ornaments  — 
not  brass  or  pewter,  but  rea-l  silver  ones  —  and  she 
rewarded  him  by  flirting  outrageously  with  Kundoo  of 
Number  Seven  gallery  gang.  Kundoo  was  really  the 
gang-head,  but  Janki  Meah  insisted  upon  all  the  work 
being  entered  in  his  own  name,  and  chose  the  men  that 


AT  TWENTY-TWO  259 

he  worked  with.  Custom  —  stronger  even  than  the 
Jimahari  Company  —  dictated  that  Janki,  by  right  of 
his  years,  should  manage  these  things,  and  should,  also, 
work  despite  his  blindness.  In  Indian  mines  where 
they  cut  into  the  solid  coal  with  the  pick  and  clear  it 
out  from  floor  to  ceiling,  he  could  come  to  no  great 
harm.  At  Home,  where  they  undercut  the  coal  and 
bring  it  down  in  crashing  avalanches  from  the  roof,  he 
would  never  have  been  allowed  to  set  foot  in  a  pit. 
He  was  not  a  popular  man,  because  of  his  oil-savings  -, 
but  all  the  gangs  admitted  that  Janki  knew  all  the 
khads,  or  workings,  that  had  ever  been  sunk  or  worked 
since  the  Jimahari  Company  first  started  operations  on 
the  Tarachunda  fields. 

Pretty  little  Unda  only  knew  that  her  old  husband 
was  a  fool  who  could  be  managed.  She  took  no  inter- 
est in  the  collieries  except  in  so  far  as  they  swallowed 
up  Kundoo  five  days  out  of  the  seven,  and  covered  him 
with  coal-dust.  Kundoo  was  a  great  workman,  and  did 
his  best  not  to  get  drunk,  because,  when  he  had  saved 
forty  rupees,  Unda  was  to  steal  everything  that  she 
could  find  in  Janki's  house  and  run  with  Kundoo  to  a 
land  where  there  were  no  mines,  and  every  one  kept 
three  fat  bullocks  and  a  milch- buffalo.  While  this 
scheme  ripened  it  was  his  custom  to  drop  in  upon  Janki 
and  worry  him  about  the  oil  savings.  Unda  sat  in  a 
corner  and  nodded  approval.  On  the  night  when 
Kundoo  had  quoted  that  objectionable  proverb  about 
weavers,  Janki  grew  angry. 

'  Listen,  you  pig,'  said  he,  '  blind  I  am,  and  old  I  am, 
but,  before  ever  you  were  born,  I  was  gray  among  the 
coal.  Even  in  the  days  when  the  Twenty-Two  khad 
was  unsunk  and  there  were  not  two  thousand  men  here, 


260  AT  TWENTY-TWO 

1  was  known  to  have  all  knowledge  of  the  pits.  What 
khad  is  there  that  I  do  not  know,  from  the  bottom  of 
the  shaft  to  the  end  of  the  last  drive?  Is  it  the  Ba- 
romba  Tchad,  the  oldest,  or  the  Twenty-Two  where 
Tibu's  gallery  runs  up  to  Number  Five  ? ' 

*  Hear  the  old  fool  talk !  '  said  Kundoo,  nodding  to 
Unda.     '  No  gallery  of  Twenty-Two  will  cut  into  Five 
before  the  end  of  the  Rains.     We  have  a  month  s  solid 
coal  before  us.     The  Babuji  says  so.' 

*  Babuji !  Pigji  I   Dogji !     What  do  these   fat  slugs 
from   Calcutta   know  ?      He   draws    and    draws    and 
draws,  and  talks  and  talks  and  talks,  and   his   maps 
are  all  wrong.     I,  Janki,  know  that  this  is  so.     When 
a  man  has  been  shut  up  in  the  dark  for  thirty  years, 
God   gives   him   knowledge.      The   old    gallery    that 
Tibu's  gang  made  is  not  six  feet  from  Number  Five.' 

'Without  doubt  God  gives  the  blind  knowledge,' 
said  Kundoo,  with  a  look  at  Unda.  '  Let  it  be  as  you 
say.  I,  for  my  part,  do  not  know  where  lies  the  gallery 
of  Tibu's  gang,  but  I  am  not  a  withered  monkey  who 
needs  oil  to  grease  his  joints  with.' 

Kundoo  swung  out  of  the  hut  laughing,  and  Unda 
giggled.  Janki  turned  his  sightless  eyes  toward  his 
wife  and  swore.  '  1  have  land,  and  I  have  sold  a 
great  deal  of  lamp-oil,'  mused  Janki ;  '  but  I  was  a 
fool  to  marry  this  child.' 

A  week  later  the  Rains  set  in  with  a  vengeance,  and 
the  gangs  paddled  about  in  coal-slush  at  the  pit-banks. 
Then  the  big  mine-pumps  were  made  ready,  and  the 
Manager  of  the  Colliery  ploughed  through  the  wet 
towards  the  Tarachunda  River  swelling  between  its 
soppy  banks.  '  Lord  send  that  this  beastly  beck 
doesn't  misbehave,'  said  the  Manager  piously,  and  he 


AT  TWENTY-TWO  261 

went  to  take  counsel  with  his  Assistant  about  the 
pumps. 

But  the  Tarachunda  misbehaved  very  much  indeed. 
After  a  fall  of  three  inches  of  rain  in  an  hour  it  was 
obliged  to  do  something.  It  topped  its  bank  and 
joined  the  flood  water  that  was  hemmed  between  two 
low  hills  just  where  the  embankment  of  the  Colliery 
main  line  crossed.  When  a  large  part  of  a  rain-fed 
river,  and  a  few  acres  of  flood-water,  make  a  dead  set 
for  a  nine-foot  culvert,  the  culvert  may  spout  its  finest, 
but  the  water  cannot  all  get  out.  The  Manager 
pranced  upon  one  leg  with  excitement,  and  his  lan- 
guage was  improper. 

He  had  reason  to  swear,  because  he  knew  that  one 
inch  of  water  on  land  meant  a  pressure  of  one  hundred 
tons  to  the  acre  ;  and  here  were  about  five  feet  of  water 
forming,  behind  the  railway  embankment,  over  the 
shallower  workings  of  Twenty-Two.  You  must  un- 
derstand that,  in  a  coal-mine,  the  coal  nearest  the 
surface  is  worked  first  from  the  central  shaft.  That 
is  to  say,  the  miners  may  clear  out  the  stuff  to  within 
ten,  twenty,  or  thirty  feet  of  the  surface,  and,  when 
all  is  worked  out,  leave  only  a  skin  of  earth  upheld 
by  some  few  pillars  of  coal.  In  a  deep  mine  where  they 
know  that  they  have  any  amount  of  material  at  hand, 
men  prefer  to  get  all  their  mineral  out  at  one  shaft, 
rather  than  make  a  number  of  little  holes  to  tap  the 
comparatively  unimportant  surface-coal. 

And  the  Manager  watched  the  flood. 

The  culvert  spouted  a  nine-foot  gush  ,  but  the  water 
still  formed,  and  word  was  sent  to  clear  the  men  out 
of  Twenty-Two.  The  cages  came  up  crammed  and 
crammed  again  with  the  men  nearest  the  pit-eye,  as 


262  AT  TWENTY-TWO 

they  call  the  place  where  you  can  see  daylight  from  the 
bottom  of  the  main  shaft.  All  away  and  away  up  the 
long  black  galleries  the  flare-lamps  were  winking  and 
dancing  like  so  many'  fireflies,  and  the  men  and  the 
women  waited  for  the  clanking,  rattling,  thundering 
cages  to  come  down  and  fly  up  again.  But  the  out- 
workings  were  very  far  off,  and  word  could  not  be 
passed  quickly,  though  the  heads  of  the  gangs  and 
the  Assistant  shouted  and  swore  and  tramped  and 
stumbled.  The  Manager  kept  one  eye  on  the  great 
troubled  pool  behind  the  embankment,  and  prayed  that 
the  culvert  would  give  way  and  let  the  water  through 
in  time.  With  the  other  eye  he  watched  the  cages 
come  up  and  saw  the  headmen  counting  the  roll  of 
the  gangs.  With  all  his  heart  and  soul  he  swore  at 
the  winder  who  controlled  the  iron  drum  that  wound 
up  the  wire  rope  on  which  hung  the  cages. 

In  a  little  time  there  was  a  down-draw  in  the  water 
behind  the  embankment  —  a  sucking  whirlpool,  all 
yellow  and  yeasty.  The  water  had  smashed  through 
the  skin  cf  the  earth  and  was  pouring  into  the  old  shal- 
low workings  of  Twenty-Two. 

Deep  down  below,  a  rush  of  black  water  caught  the 
last  gang  waiting  for  the  cage,  and  as  they  clambered 
in,  the  whirl  was  about  their  waists.  The  cage  reached 
the  pit-bank,  and  the  Manager  called  the  roll.  The 
gangs  were  all  safe  except  Gang  Janki,  Gang  Mogul,  and 
Gang  Rahim,  eighteen  men,  with  perhaps  ten  basket- 
women  who  loaded  the  coal  into  the  little  iron  carriages 
that  ran  on  the  tramways  of  the  main  galleries.  These 
gangs  were  in  the  out-workings,  three-quarters  of  a 
mile  away,  on  the  extreme  fringe  of  the  mine.  Once 
more  the  case  went  down,  but  with  ^.^v  two  English- 


AT  TWENTY-TWO  263 

men  in  it,  and  dropped  into  a  swirling,  roaring  current 
that  had  almost  touched  the  roof  of  some  of  the  lower 
side-galleries.  One  of  the  wooden  balks  with  which 
they  had  propped  the  old  workings  shot  past  on  the 
current,  just  missing  the  cage. 

4  If  we  don't  want  our  ribs  knocked  out,  we'd  better 
go, '  said  the  Manager.  '  We  can't  even  save  the 
Company's  props.' 

The  cage  drew  out  of  the  water  with  a  splash,  and 
a  few  minutes  later,  it  was  officially  reported  that 
there  were  at  least  ten  feet  of  water  in  the  pit's  eye. 
Now  ten  feet  of  water  there  meant  that  all  other 
places  in  the  mine  were  flooded  except  such  galleries 
as  were  more  than  ten  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
bottom  of  the  shaft.  The  deep  workings  would  be 
full,  the  main  galleries  would  be  full,  but  in  the  high 
workings  reached  by  inclines  from  the  main  roads, 
there  would  be  a  certain  amount  of  air  cut  off,  so  to 
speak,  by  the  water  and  squeezed  up  by  it.  The  little 
science-primers  explain  how  water  behaves  when  you 
pour  it  down  test-tubes.  The  flooding  of  Twenty- 
Two  was  an  illustration  on  a  large  scale. 

********* 

4  By  the  Holy  Grove,  what  has  happened  to  the  air  ! ' 
It  was  a  Sonthal  gangman  of  Gang  Mogul  in  Number 
Nine  gallery,  and  he  was  driving  a  six-foot  way 
through  the  coal.  Then  there  was  a  rush  from  the 
other  galleries,  and  Gang  Janki  and  Gang  Kahim 
stumbled  up  with  their  basket- women. 

'  Water  has  come  in  the  mine,'  they  said,  ;  and  there 
is  no  way  of  getting  out.' 

*  I  went  down,'  said  Janki  — - '  down  the  slope  of  my 
gallery,  and  I  felt  the  water.' 


264  AT  TWENTY-TWO 

4  There  has  been  no  water  in  the  cutting  in  our  time,* 
clamoured  the  women.  *  Why  cannot  we  go  away  ? ' 

4  Be  silent ! '  said  Janki.  '  Long  ago,  when  my  father 
was  here,  water  came  to  Ten  —  no,  Eleven  —  cutting, 
and  there  was  great  trouble.  Let  us  get  away  to 
where  the  air  is  better.' 

The  three  gangs  and  the  basket-women  left  Number 
Nine  gallery  and  went  further  up  Number  Sixteen. 
At  one  turn  of  the  road  they  could  see  the  pitchy  black 
water  lapping  on  the  coal.  It  had  touched  the  roof  of 
a  gallery  that  they  knew  well  —  a  gallery  where  they 
used  to  smoke  their  huqas  and  manage  their  flirtations. 
Seeing  this,  they  called  aloud  upon  their  Gods,  and  the 
Mehas,  who  are  thrice  bastered  Muhammadans,  strove 
to  recollect  the  name  of  the  Prophet.  They  came  to 
a  great  open  square  whence  nearly  all  the  coal  had 
been  extracted.  It  was  the  end  of  the  out-workings, 
and  the  end  of  the  mine. 

Far  away  down  the  gallery  a  small  pumping-engine, 
used  for  keeping  dry  a  deep  working  and  fed  with 
steam  from  above,  was  throbbing  faithfully.  They 
heard  it  cease. 

4  They  have  cut  off  the  steam,'  said  Kundoo  hope- 
fully. '  They  have  given  the  order  to  use  all  the  steam 
for  the  pit-bank  pumps.  They  will  clear  out  the 
water.' 

'  If  the  wate^  has  reached  the  smoking-gallery/  said 
Janki,  'all  the  Company's  pumps  can  do  nothing  for 
three  days.' 

'It  is  very  hot,'  moaned  Jasoda,  the  Meah  basket 
women.     '  There  is  a  very  bad  air  here  because  of  the 
lamps. ' 

4  Put  them  out,'  said  Janki ;  '  why  do  you  want  lamps  ? ' 


AT  TWENTY-TWO  265 

The  lamps  were  put  out  and  the  company  sat  still  in  the 
utter  dark.  Somebody  rose  quietly  and  began  walk- 
ing over  the  coals.  It  was  Janki,  who  was  touching 
the  walls  with  his  hands.  '  Where  is  the  ledge  ? '  he 
murmured  to  himself. 

'  Sit,  sit ! '  said  Kundoo.  4  If  we  die,  we  die.  The 
air  is  very  bad,' 

But  Janki  still  stumbled  and  crept  and  tapped  with 
his  pick  upon  the  walls.  The  women  rose  to  their 
feet. 

'Stay  all  where  you  are.  Without  the  lamps  you 
cannot  see,  and  I  —  I  am  always  seeing,'  said  Janki. 
Then  he  paused,  and  called  out :  '  Oh,  you  who  have 
been  in  the  cutting  more  than  ten  years,  what  is  the 
name  of  this  open  place  ?  I  am  an  old  man  and  I  have 
forgotten." 

'  Bullia's  Room,'  answered  the  Sonthal  who  had  com- 
plained of  the  vileness  of  the  air. 

'  Again,'  said  Janki. 

'Bullia's  Room.' 

4  Then  I  have  found  it,'  said  Janki.  *  The  name 
only  had  slipped  my  memory.  Tibu's  gang's  gallery 
is  here.' 

4  A  lie,'  said  Kundoo.  4  There  have  been  no  galleries 
in  this  place  since  my  day.' 

'  Three  paces  was  the  depth  of  the  ledge,'  muttered 
Janki  without  heeding  — 4  and  —  oh,  my  poor  bones  !  — 
I  have  found  it !  It  is  here,  up  this  ledge.  Come  all 
you,  one  by  one,  to  the  place  of  my  voice,  and  I  will 
count  you.' 

There  was  a  rush  in  the  dark,  and  Janki  felt  the  first 
man's  face  hit  his  knees  as  the  Sonthal  scrambled  up 
the  ledge. 


266  AT  TWENTY-TWO 

'Who?'  cried  Janki. 

*  I,  Sunua  Manji.' 

*  Sit  you  down,'  said  Janki.     '  Who  next? ' 

One  by  one  the  women  and  the  men  crawled  up  the 
ledge  which  ran  along  one  side  of  '  Bullia's  Room, 
Degraded  Muhammadan,  pig-eating  Musahr  and  wild 
Sonthal,  Janki  ran  his  hand  over  them  all. 

'Now  follow  after,'  said  he,  'catching  hold  of  my 
heel,  and  the  women  catching  the  men's  clothes.'  He 
did  not  ask  whether  the  men  had  brought  their  picks 
with  them.  A  miner,  black  or  white,  does  not  drop 
his  pick.  One  by  one,  Janki  leading,  they  crept  into 
the  old  gallery  —  a  six-foot  way  with  a  scant  four  feet 
from  thill  to  roof. 

'  The  air  is  better  here,'  said  Jasoda.  They  could  hear 
her  heart  beating  in  thick,  sick  bumps. 

'  Slowly,  slowly,'  said  Janki.  '  I  am  an  old  man,  and 
I  forget  many  things.  This  is  Tibu's  gallery,  but  where 
are  the  four  bricks  where  they  used  to  put  their  huqa 
fire  on  when  the  Sahibs  never  saw  ?  Slowly,  slowly,  O 
you  people  behind.' 

They  heard  his  hands  disturbing  the  small  coal  on 
the  floor  of  the  gallery  and  then  a  dull  sound.  '  This  is 
one  unbaked  brick,  and  this  is  another  and  another. 
Kundoo  is  a  young  man  —  let  him  come  forward.  Put  a 
knee  upon  this  brick  and  strike  here.  When  Tibu's 
gang  were  at  dinner  on  the  last  day  before  the  good 
coal  ended,  they  heard  the  men  of  Five  on  the  other 
side,  and  Five  worked  their  gallery  two  Sundays  later  — 
or  it  may  have  been  one.  Strike  there,  Kundoo,  but 
give  me  room  to  go  back.' 

Kundoo,  doubting,  drove  the  pick,  but  the  first  soft 
crush  of  the  coal  was  a  call  to  him.  He  was 


AT  TWENTY-TWO  267 

for  his  life  and  for  Unda  —  pretty  little  Unda  with  rings 
on  all  her  toes  —  for  Unda  and  the  forty  rupees.  The 
women  sang  the  Song  of  the  Pick  —  the  terrible,  slow, 
swinging  melody  with  the  muttered  chorus  that  repeats 
the  sliding  of  the  loosened  coal,  and,  to  each  cadence, 
Kundoo  smote  in  the  black  dark.  When  he  could  do 
no  more,  Sunua  Manji  took  the  pick,  and  struck  for  his 
life  and  his  wife,  and  his  village  beyond  the  blue  hills 
over  the  Tarachunda  River.  An  hour  the  men  worked, 
and  then  the  women  cleared  away  the  coal. 

4  It  is  farther  than  I  thought,'  said  Janki.  '  The  air 
is  very  bad;  but  strike,  Kundoo,  strike  hard.' 

For  the  fifth  time  Kundoo  took  up  the  pick  as 
the  Sonthal  crawled  back.  The  song  had  scarcely 
recommenced  when  it  was  broken  by  a  yell  from  Kun- 
doo that  echoed  down  the  gallery :  '  Par  hua !  Par 
hua  f  We  are  through,  we  are  through ! '  The  impris- 
oned air  in  the  mine  shot  through  the  opening,  and 
the  women  at  the  far  end  of  the  gallery  heard  the  water 
rush  through  the  pillars  of  'Bullia's  Room'  and  roar 
against  the  ledge.  Having  fulfilled  the  law  under 
which  it  worked,  it  rose  no  farther.  The  women 
screamed  and  pressed  forward.  4  The  water  has  come  — 
we  shall  be  killed !  Let  us  go.' 

Kundoo  crawled  through  the  gap  and  found  himself 
in  a  propped  gallery  by  the  simple  process  of  hitting 
his  head  against  a  beam. 

'  Do  I  know  the  pits  or  do  I  not  ? '  chuckled  Janki. 
'  This  is  the  Number  Five  ;  go  you  out  slowly,  giv- 
ing me  your  names.  Ho  1  Rahim,  count  your  gang ! 
Now  let  us  go  forward,  each  catching  hold  of  the  other 
as  before-' 

They  formed  a  line  in  the  darkness  and  Janki  led 


268  AT  TWENTY-TWO 

them  —  for  a  pit-man  in  a  strange  pit  is  only  one 
degree  less  liable  to  err  than  an  ordinary  mortal 
underground  for  the  first  time.  At  last  they  saw  a 
flare-lamp,  and  Gangs  Janki,  Mogul,  and  Rahim  of 
Twenty-Two  stumbled  dazed  into  the  glare  of  the 
draught-furnace  at  the  bottom  of  Five  :  Janki  feeling 
his  way  and  the  rest  behind. 

'Water  has  come  into  Twenty-Two.  God  knows 
where  are  the  others.  I  have  brought  these  men  from 
Tibu's  gallery  in  our  cutting ,  making  connection 
through  the  north  side  of  the  gallery.  Take  us  to 
the  cage,'  said  Janki  Meah. 

********* 

At  the  pit-bank  of  Twenty-Two,  some  thousand 
people  clamoured  and  wept  and  shouted.  One  hun- 
dred men  —  one  thousand  men  —  had  been  drowned  in 
the  cutting.  They  would  all  go  to  their  homes  to- 
morrow. Where  ware  iheir  men?  Little  Unda,  her 
cloth  drenched  with  the  rain,  stood  at  the  pit-mouth 
calling  down  the  shaft  for  Kundoo.  They  had  swung 
the  cages  clear  of  the  mouth,  and  her  only  answer  was 
the  murmur  of  the  flood  in  the  pit's  eye  two  hundred 
and  sixty  feet  below. 

4  Look  after  that  woman !  She'll  chuck  herself  down 
the  shaft  in  a  minute,'  shouted  the  Manager. 

But  he  need  not  have  troubled  •  Unda  was  afraid 
of  Death.  She  wanted  Kundoo.  The  Assistant  was 
watching  the  flood  and  seeing  how  far  he  could  wade 
into  it.  There  was  a  lull  in  the  water,  and  the 
whirlpool  had  slackened.  The  mine  was  full,  and  the 
people  at  the  pit-bank  howled. 

4  My  faith,  we  shall  be  lucky  if  we  have  five  hundred 
hands  on  the  place  to-morrow ! '  said  the  Manager. 


AT  TWENTY-TWO  269 

'  There's  some  chance  yet  of  running  a  temporary  dam 
across  that  water.  Shove  in  anything  —  tubs  and  bul- 
lock-carts if  you  haven't  enough  bricks.  Make  them 
work  now  if  they  never  worked  before.  Hi !  you 
gangers,  make  them  work.' 

Little  by  little  the  crowd  was  broken  into  detach- 
ments, and  pushed  towards  the  water  with  promises  of 
overtime.  The  dam-making  began,  and  when  it  was 
fairly  under  way,  the  Manager  thought  that  the  hour 
had  come  for  the  pumps.  There  was  no  fresh  inrush 
into  the  mine.  The  tall,  red,  iron-clamped  pump-beam 
rose  and  fell,  and  the  pumps  snored  and  guttered  and 
shrieked  as  the  first  water  poured  out  of  the  pipe. 

'We  must  run  her  all  to-night,'  said  the  Manager 
wearily,  '  but  there's  no  hope  for  the  poor  devils  down 
below.  Look  here,  Gur  Sahai,  if  you  are  proud  of  your 
engines,  show  me  what  they  can  do  now.' 

Gur  Sahai  grinned  and  nodded,  with  his  right  hand 
upon  the  lever  and  an  oil-can  in  his  left.  He  could  do 
no  more  than  he  was  doing,  but  he  could  keep  that  up 
till  the  dawn.  Were  the  Company's  pumps  to  be  beaten 
by  the  vagaries  of  that  troublesome  Tarachunda  River  ? 
Never,  never  !  And  the  pumps  sobbed  and  panted  : 
'  Never,  never  !  '  The  Manager  sat  in  the  shelter  of 
the  pit-bank  roofing,  trying  to  dry  himself  by  the 
pump-boiler  fire,  and,  in  the  dreary  dusk,  he  saw  the 
crowds  on  the  dam  scatter  and  fly. 

'  That's  the  end,'  he  groaned.  '  'Twill  take  us  six 
weeks  to  persuade  'em  that  we  haven't  tried  to  drown 
their  mates  on  purpose.  Oh,  for  a  decent,  rational 
Geordie  ! ' 

But  the  flight  had  no  panic  in  it.  Men  had  run  over 
from  Five  with  astounding  news,  and  the  foremen  could 


270  AT  TWENTY-TWO 

not  hold  their  gangs  together.  Presently,  surrounded 
by  a  clamorous  crew,  Gangs  Rahirn,  Mogul,  and  Janki, 
and  ten  basket- women,  walked  up  to  report  themselves, 
and  pretty  little  Unda  stole  away  to  Janki's  hut  to  pre- 
pare his  evening  meal. 

'  Alone  I  found  the  way,'  explained  Janki  Meah,  <•  and 
now  will  the  Company  give  me  pension '? ' 

The  simple  pit-folk  shouted  and  leaped  and  went 
back  to  the  dam,  reassured  in  their  old  belief  that, 
whatever  happened,  so  great  was  the  power  of  the 
Company  whose  salt  they  ate,  none  of  them  could  be 
killed.  But  Gur  Sahai  only  bared  his  white  teeth  and 
kept  his  hand  upon  the  lever  and  proved  his  pumps  to 
the  uttermost. 

###*•####-* 

'I  say,'  said  the  Assistant  to  the  Manager,  a  week 
later,  *  do  you  recollect  Germinal  ? ' 

'  Yes.  'Queer  thing.  I  thought  of  it  in  the  cage 
when  that  balk  went  by.  Why  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  this  business  seems  to  be  Grerminal  upside  down. 
Janki  was  in  my  veranda  all  this  morning,  telling  me 
that  Kundoo  had  eloped  with  his  wife  —  Unda  or  Aiida, 
I  think  her  name  was.' 

4  Hillo  !  And  those  were  the  cattle  that  you  risked 
your  life  to  clear  out  of  Twenty-Two  ' 

4  No  —  I  was  thinking  of  the  Company's  props,  not 
the  Company's  men.' 

'Sounds  better  to  say  so  now;  but  I  don't  believe 
you,  old  fellow.' 


IN  FLOOD  TIME 

Tweed  said  tae  Till : 

'  What  gars  ye  rin  sae  still  ?  * 

Till  said  tae  Tweed : 

'  Though  ye  rin  wi'  speed 

An'  I  rin  slaw  — 

Yet  where  ye  droon  ae  man 

I  droon  twa. ' 

THERE  is  no  getting  over  the  river  to-night,  Sahib. 
They  say  that  a  bullock-cart  has  been  washed  down 
already,  and  the  ekka  that  went  over  a  half  hour  before 
you  came,  has  not  yet  reached  the  far  side.  Is  the 
Sahib  in  haste?  I  will  drive  the  ford-elephant  in  to 
show  him.  Ohe,  mahout  there  in  the  shed  !  Bring  out 
Ram  Pershad,  and  if  he  will  face  the  current,  good. 
An  elephant  never  lies,  Sahib,  and  Ram  Pershad  is  sepa- 
rated from  his  friend  Kala  Nag.  He,  too,  wishes  to 
cross  to  the  far  side.  Well  done !  Well  done  !  my 
King  !  Go  half  way  across,  mahoutji,  and  see  what  the 
river  says.  Well  done,  Ram  Pershad !  Pearl  among 
elephants,  go  into  the  river !  Hit  him  on  the  head, 
fool !  Was  the  goad  made  only  to  scratch  thy  own  fat 
back  with,  bastard?  Strike'  Strike!  What  are  the 
boulders  to  thee,  Ram  Pershad,  my  Rustum,  my  moun- 
tain of  strength  ?  Go  in  !  Go  in  ! 

No,  Sahib !  It  is  useless.  You  can  hear  him  trumpet. 
He  is  telling  Kala  Nag  that  he  cannot  come  over.  See ! 
He  has  swung  round  and  is  shaking  his  head.  He  is 

271 


272  IN  FLOOD  TIME 

no  fool.  He  knows  what  the  Barhwi  means  when  it  is 
angry.  Aha!  Indeed,  thou  art  no  fool,  my  child! 
Salaam,  Ram  Pershad,  Bahadur !  Take  him  under  the 
trees,  mahout,  and  see  that  he  gets  his  spices.  Well 
done,  thou  chiefest  among  tuskers.  Salaam  to  the 
Sirkar  and  go  to  sleep. 

What  is  to  be  done  ?  The  Sahib  must  wait  till  the 
river  goes  down.  It  will  shrink  to-morrow  morning,  if 
God  pleases,  or  the  day  after  at  the  latest.  Now  why 
does  the  Sahib  get  so  angry  ?  I  am  his  servant.  Before 
God,  /  did  not  create  this  stream !  What  can  I  do  ? 
My  hut  and  all  that  is  therein  is  at  the  service  of  the 
Sahib,  and  it  is  beginning  to  rain.  Come  away,  my 
Lord.  How  will  the  river  go  down  for  your  throwing 
abuse  at  it?  In  the  old  days  the  English  people  were 
not  thus.  The  fire-carriage  has  made  them  soft.  In 
the  old  days,  when  they  drave  behind  horses  by  day  or 
by  night,  they  said  naught  if  a  river  barred  the  way,  or 
a  carriage  sat  down  in  the  mud.  It  was  the  will  of 
God  —  not  like  a  fire-carriage  which  goes  and  goes  and 
goes,  and  would  go  though  all  the  devils  in  the  land 
hung  on  to  its  tail.  The  fire-carriage  hath  spoiled  the 
English  people.  After  all,  what  is  a  day  lost,  or,  for 
that  matter,  what  are  two  days  ?  Is  the  Sahib  going  to 
his  own  wedding,  that  he  is  so  mad  with  haste  ?  Ho ! 
Ho !  Ho  !  I  am  an  old  man  and  see  few  Sahibs.  For- 
give me  if  I  have  forgotten  the  respect  that  is  due  to 
them.  The  Sahib  is  not  angry  ? 

His  own  wedding  !  Ho !  Ho !  Ho  !  The  mind  of 
an  old  man  is  like  the  numah-tTee.  Fruit,  bud,  blossom, 
and  the  dead  leaves  of  all  the  years  of  the  past  flourish 
together.  Old  and  new  and  that  which  is  gone  out  of 
remembrance,  all  three  are  there  !  Sit  on  the  bedstead, 


IN  FLOOD  TIME  273 

Sahib,  and  drink  milk.  Or  —  would  the  Sahib  in  truth 
care  to  drink  my  tobacco  ?  It  is  good.  It  is  the  tobacco 
of  Nuklao.  My  son,  who  is  in  service  there,  sent  it  to 
me.  Drink,  then,  Sahib,  if  you  know  how  to  handle 
the  tube.  The  Sahib  takes  it  like  a  Musalman.  Wah ! 
Wah  !  Where  did  he  learn  that  ?  His  own  wedding .' 
Ho !  Ho !  Ho !  The  Sahibs  says  that  there  is  no  wed- 
ding in  the  matter  at  all?  Now  is  it  likely  that  the 
Sahib  would  speak  true  talk  to  me  who  am  only  a  black 
man  ?  Small  wonder,  then,  that  he  is  in  haste.  Thirty 
years  have  I  beaten  the  gong  at  this  ford,  but  never 
have  I  seen  a  Sahib  in  such  haste.  Thirty  years,  Sahib  ! 
That  is  a  very  long  time.  Thirty  years  ago  this  ford 
was  on  the  track  of  the  bunjaras,  and  I  have  seen  two 
thousand  pack-bullocks  cross  in  one  night.  Now  the 
rail  has  come,  and  the  fire-carriage  says  buz-buz-buz,  and 
a  hundred  lakhs  of  maunds  slide  across  that  big  bridge. 
It  is  very  wonderful ;  but  the  ford  is  lonely  now  that 
there  are  no  bunjaras  to  camp  under  the  trees. 

Nay,  do  not  trouble  to  look  at  the  sky  without.  It 
will  rain  till  the  dawn.  Listen !  The  boulders  are 
talking  to-night  in  the  bed  of  the  river.  Hear  them  I 
They  would  be  husking  your  bones,  Sahib,  had  you  tried 
to  cross.  See,  I  will  shut  the  door  and  no  rain  can 
enter.  Wahi  !  AM !  Ugli  !  Thirty  years  on  the  banks 
of  the  ford !  An  old  man  am  I  and  —  where  is  the  oil 
for  the  lamp? 

********* 

Your  pardon,  but,  because  of  my  years,  I  sleep  no 
sounder  than  a  dog;  and  you  moved  to  the  door.  Look 
then,  Salub.  Look  and  listen.  A  full  half  kos  from 
bank  to  bank  is  the  stream  now  —  you  can  see  it  under 
the  stars  —  and  there  are  ten  feet  of  water  therein.  It 


274  IN  FLOOD  TIME 

will  not  shrink  because  of  the  anger  in  your  eyes,  and 
it  will  not  be  quiet  on  account  of  your  curses.  Which 
is  louder,  Sahib  —  your  voice  or  the  voice  of  the  river  ? 
Call  to  it  —  perhaps  it  will  be  ashamed.  Lie  down  and 
sleep  afresh,  Sahib.  I  know  the  anger  of  the  Barhwi 
when  there  has  fallen  rain  in  the  foot-hills.  I  swam 
the  flood,  once,  on  a  night  tenfold  worse  than  this,  and 
by  the  Favour  of  God  I  was  released  from  Death  when 
I  had  come  to  the  very  gates  thereof. 

May  I  tell  the  tale  ?  Very  good  talk.  I  will  fill  the 
pipe  anew. 

Thirty  years  ago  it  was,  when  I  was  a  young  man  and 
had  but  newly  come  to  the  ford.  I  was  strong  then, 
and  the  bunjaras  had  no  doubt  when  I  said  '  this  ford  is 
clear.'  I  have  toiled  all  night  up  to  my  shoulder-blades 
in  running  water  amid  a  hundred  bullocks  mad  with 
fear,  and  have  brought  them  across  losing  not  a  hoof. 
When  all  was  done  I  fetched  the  shivering  men,  and 
they  gave  me  for  reward  the  pick  of  their  cattle  —  the 
bell-bullock  of  the  drove.  So  great  was  the  honour  in 
which  I  was  held !  But,  to-day  when  the  rain  falls  and 
the  river  rises,  I  creep  into  my  hut  and  whimper  like  a 
dog.  My  strength  is  gone  from  me.  I  am  an  old  man 
and  the  fire-carriage  has  made  the  ford  desolate.  They 
were  wont  to  call  me  the  Strong  One  of  the  Barhwi. 

Behold  my  face,  Sahib  —  it  is  the  face  of  a  monkey. 
And  my  arm  —  it  is  the  arm  of  an  old  woman.  I  swear 
to  you,  Sahib,  that  a  woman  has  loved  this  face  and  has 
rested  in  the  hollow  of  this  arm.  Twenty  years  ago, 
Sahib.  Believe  me,  this  was  true  talk  —  twenty  years 
ago. 

Come  to  the  door  and  look  across.  Can  you  see  a 
thin  fire  very  far  away  down  the  stream  ?  That  is  the 


IN  FLOOD  TIME  275 

temple-fire,  in  the  shrine  of  Hanuman,  of  the  village  of 
Pateera.  North,  under  the  big  star,  is  the  village  itself, 
but  it  is  hidden  by  a  bend  of  the  river.  Is  that  far 
to  swim,  Sahib?  Would  you  take  off  your  clothes 
and  adventure  ?  Yet  I  swam  to  Pateera  —  not  once 
but  many  times ;  and  there  are  muggers  in  the  river 
too. 

Love  knows  no  caste ;  else  why  should  I,  a  Musal- 
man  and  the  son  of  a  Musalman,  have  sought  a  Hindu 
woman  —  a  widow  of  the  Hindus  —  the  sister  of  the 
headman  of  Pateera?  But  it  was  even  so.  They  of 
the  headman's  household  came  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Mut- 
tra  when  She  was  but  newly  a  bride.  Silver  tires  were 
upon  the  wheels  of  the  bullock-cart,  and  silken  curtains 
hid  the  woman.  Sahib,  I  made  no  haste  in  their  con- 
veyance, for  the  wind  parted  the  curtains  and  I  saw 
Her.  When  they  returned  from  pilgrimage  the  boy 
that  was  Her  husband  had  died,  and  I  saw  Her  again 
in  the  bullock-cart.  By  God,  these  Hindus  are  fools ! 
What  was  it  to  me  whether  She  was  Hindu  or  Jain  — 
scavenger,  leper,  or  whole  ?  I  would  have  married  Her 
and  made  Her  a  home  by  the  ford.  The  Seventh  of  the 
Nine  Bars  says  that  a  man  may  not  marry  one  of  the 
idolaters?  Is  that  truth?  Both  Shiahs  and  Sunnis 
say  that  a  Musalman  may  not  marry  one  of  the  idola- 
ters? Is  the  Sahib  a  priest,  then,  that  he  knows  so 
much?  I  will  tell  him  something  that  he  does  not 
know.  There  is  neither  Shiah  nor  Sunni,  forbidden 
nor  idolater,  in  Love ;  and  the  Nine  Bars  are  but  nine 
little  fagots  that  the  flame  of  Love  utterly  burns  away. 
In  truth,  I  would  have  taken  Her;  but  what  could  I 
<lo?  The  headman  would  have  sent  his  men  to  break 
mv  head  with  staves.  I  am  not  —  I  was  not  —  afraid 


276  IN  FLOOD  TIME 

of  any  five  men;  tout  against  half  a  village  who  can 
prevail  ? 

Therefore  It  was  my  custom,  these  things  having 
been  arranged  between  us  twain,  to  go  by  night  to  the 
village  of  Pateera,  and  there  we  met  among  the  crops ; 
no  man  knowing  aught  of  the  matter.  Behold,  now ! 
I  was  wont  to  cross  here,  skirting  the  jungle  to  the 
river  bend  where  the  railway  bridge  is,  and  thence 
across  the  elbow  of  land  to  Pateera.  The  light  of  the 
shrine  was  my  guide  when  the  nights  were  dark.  That 
jungle  near  the  river  is  very  full  of  snakes  —  little 
karaits  that  sleep  on  the  sand  —  and  moreover,  Her 
brothers  would  have  slain  me  had  they  found  me  in  the 
crops.  But  none  knew  —  none  knew  save  She  and  I; 
and  the  blown  sand  of  the  river-bed  covered  the  track 
of  my  feet.  In  the  hot  months  it  was  an  easy  thing  to 
pass  from  the  ford  to  Pateera,  and  in  the  first  Rains, 
when  the  river  rose  slowly,  it  was  an  easy  thing  also. 
I  set  the  strength  of  my  body  against  the  strength  of 
the  stream,  and  nightly  I  ate  in  my  hut  here  and  drank 
at  Pateera  yonder.  She  had  said  that  one  Hirnam 
Singh,  a  thief,  had  sought  Her,  and  he  was  of  a  village 
up  the  river  but  on  the  same  bank.  All  Sikhs  are  dogs, 
and  they  have  refused  in  their  folly  that  good  gift  of 
God  —  tobacco.  I  was  ready  to  destroy  Hirnam  Singh 
that  ever  he  had  come  nigh  Her ;  and  the  more  because 
he  had  sworn  to  Her  that  She  had  a  lover,  and  that  he 
would  lie  in  wait  and  give  the  name  to  the  headman 
unless  She  went  away  with  him-  What  curs  are  these 
Sikhs ! 

After  that  news,  I  swam  always  with  a  little  sharp 
knife  in  my  belt,  and  evil  would  it  have  been  for  a  man 
had  he  stayed  me.  I  knew  not  the  face  of  Hirnam 


IN  FLOOD  TIME  277 

Singh,  but  I  would  have  killed  any  who  came  between 
ine  and  Her. 

Upon  a  night  in  the  beginning  of  the  Rains,  I  was 
minded  to  go  across  to  Pateera,  albeit  the  river  was 
angry.  Now  the  nature  of  the  Barhwi  is  this,  Sahib. 
In  twenty  breaths  it  comes  down  from  the  Hills,  a  wall 
three  feet  high,  and  I  have  seen  it,  between  the  lighting 
of  a  fire  and  the  cooking  of  a  chupatty,  grow  from  a 
runnel  to  a  sister  of  the  Jumna. 

When  I  left  this  bank  there  was  a  shoal  a  half  mile 
down,  and  I  made  shift  to  fetch  it  and  draw  breath 
there  ere  going  forward;  for  I  felt  the  hands  of  the 
river  heavy  upon  my  heels.  Yet  what  will  a  young 
man  not  do  for  Love's  sake  ?  There  was  but  little  light 
from  the  stars,  and  midway  to  the  shoal  a  branch  of  the 
stinking  deodar  tree  brushed  my  mouth  as  I  swam. 
That  was  a  sign  of  heavy  rain  in  the  foot-hills  and 
beyond,  for  the  deodar  is  a  strong  tree,  not  easily  shaken 
from  the  hillsides.  I  made  haste,  the  river  aiding  me, 
but  ere  I  had  touched  the  shoal,  the  pulse  of  the  stream 
beat,  as  it  were,  within  me  and  around,  and,  behold,  the 
shoal  was  gone  and  I  rode  high  on  the  crest  of  a  wave 
that  ran  from  bank  to  bank.  Has  the  Sahib  ever  been 
cast  into  much  water  that  fights  and  will  not  let  a  man 
use  his  limbs?  To  me,  my  head  upon  the  water,  it 
seemed  as  though  there  were  naught  but  water  to  the 
world's  end,  and  the  river  drave  me  with  its  driftwood. 
A  man  is  a  very  little  thing  in  the  belly  of  a  flood. 
And  this  flood,  though  I  knew  it  not,  was  the  Great 
Flood  about  which  men  talk  still.  My  liver  was  dis- 
solved and  I  lay  like  a  log  upon  my  back  in  the  fear 
of  Death.  There  were  living  things  in  the  water,  cry- 
ing and  howling  grievously  —  beasts  of  the  forest  and 


278  IN  FLOOD   TIME 

cattle,  and  once  the  voice  of  a  man  asking  for  help. 
But  the  rain  came  and  lashed  the  water  white,  and  I 
heard  no  more  save  the  roar  of  the  boulders  below  and 
the  roar  of  the  rain  above.  Thus  I  was  whirled  down- 
stream, wrestling  for  the  breath  in  me.  It  is  very  hard 
to  die  when  one  is  young.  Can  the  Sahib,  standing 
here,  see  the  railway  bridge  ?  Look,  there  are  the  lights 
of  the  mail-train  going  to  Peshawur!  The  bridge  is 
now  twenty  feet  above  the  river,  but  upon  that  night 
the  water  was  roaring  against  the  lattice-work  and 
against  the  lattice  came  I  feet  first.  But  much  drift- 
wood was  piled  there  and  upon  the  piers,  and  I  took  no 
great  hurt.  Only  the  river  pressed  me  as  a  strong  man 
presses  a  weaker.  Scarcely  could  I  take  hold  of  the 
lattice-work  and  crawl  to  the  upper  boom.  Sahib,  the 
water  was  foaming  across  the  rails  a  foot  deep !  Judge 
therefore  what  manner  of  flood  it  must  have  been.  I 
could  not  hear.  I  could  not  see.  I  could  but  lie  on  the 
boom  and  pant  for  breath. 

After  a  while  the  rain  ceased  and  there  came  out  in 
the  sky  certain  new  washed  stars,  and  by  their  light  I 
saw  that  there  was  no  end  to  the  black  water  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  travel,  and  the  water  had  risen  upon  the 
rails.  There  were  dead  beasts  in  the  driftwood  on  the 
piers,  and  others  caught  by  the  neck  in  the  lattice-work, 
and  others  not  yet  drowned  who  strove  to  find  a  foot- 
hold on  the  lattice-work  —  buffaloes  and  kine,  and  wild 
pig,  and  deer  one  or  two,  and  snakes  and  jackals  past 
all  counting.  Their  bodies  were  black  upon  the  left 
side  of  the  bridge,  but  the  smaller  of  them  were  forced 
through  the  lattice-work  and  whirled  down-stream. 

Thereafter  the  stars  died  and  the  rrin  came  down 
afresh  and  the  river  rose  yet  more,  and  I  felt  the  bridge 


IN  FLOOD  TIME  279 

begin  to  stir  under  me  as  a  man  stirs  in  his  sleep  ere  lie 
wakes.  But  I  was  not  afraid,  Sahib.  I  swear  to  you 
that  I  was  not  afraid,  though  I  had  no  power  in  my 
limbs.  I  knew  that  I  should  not  die  till  I  had  seen  Her 
once  more.  But  I  was  very  cold,  and  I  felt  that  the 
bridge  must  go. 

There  was  a  trembling  in  the  water,  such  a  trembling 
as  goes  before  the  coming  of  a  great  wave,  and  the 
bridge  lifted  its  flank  to  the  rush  of  that  coming  so  that 
the  right  lattice  dipped  under  water  and  the  left  rose 
clear.  On  my  beard,  Sahib,  I  am  speaking  God's  truth ! 
As  a  Mirzapore  stone-boat  careens  to  the  wind,  so  the 
Barhwi  Bridge  turned.  Thus  and  in  no  other  manner. 

I  slid  from  the  boom  into  deep  water,  and  behind  me 
came  the  wave  of  the  wrath  of  the  river.  I  heard  its 
voice  and  the  scream  of  the  middle  part  of  the  bridge  as 
it  moved  from  the  piers  and  sank,  and  I  knew  no  more 
till  I  rose  in  the  middle  of  the  great  flood.  I  put  forth 
my  hand  to  swim,  and  lo !  it  fell  upon  the  knotted  hair 
of  the  head  of  a  man.  He  was  dead,  for  no  one  but  I, 
the  Strong  One  of  Barhwi,  could  have  lived  in  that  race. 
He  had  been  dead  full  two  days,  for  he  rode  high, 
wallowing,  and  was  an  aid  to  me.  I  laughed  then, 
knowing  for  a  surety  that  I  should  yet  see  Her  and 
take  no  harm ;  and  I  twisted  my  fingers  in  the  hair  of 
the  man,  for  I  was  far  spent,  and  together  we  went 
down  the  stream  —  he  the  dead  and  I  the  living.  Lack- 

o 

ing-  that  help  I  should  have  sunk :  the  cold  was  in  my 
marrow,  and  my  flesh  was  ribbed  and  sodden  on  my 
bones.  But  he  had  no  fear  who  had  known  the  utter- 
most of  the  power  of  the  river;  and  I  let  him  go  where 
he  chose.  At  last  we  came  into  the  power  of  a  side- 
current  that  set  to  the  right  bank,  and  I  strove  with  my 


280  IN  FLOOD  TIME 

feet  to  draw  with  it.  But  the  dead  man  swung  heavily 
in  the  whirl,  and  I  feared  that  some  branch  had  struck 
him  and  that  he  would  sink.  The  tops  of  the  tamarisk 
brushed  my  knees,  so  I  knew  we  were  come  into  flood- 
water  above  the  crops,  and,  after,  I  let  down  my  legs 
and  felt  bottom  —  the  ridge  of  a  field  —  and,  after,  the 
dead  man  stayed  upon  a  knoll  under  a  fig-tree,  and  I 
drew  my  body  from  the  water  rejoicing. 

Does  the  Sahib  know  whither  the  backwash  of  the 
flood  had  borne  me?  To  the  knoll  which  is  the  eastern 
boundary-mark  of  the  village  of  Pateera !  No  other 
place.  I  drew  the  dead  man  up  on  the  grass  for  the 
service  that  he  had  done  me,  and  also  because  I  knew 
not  whether  I  should  need  him  again.  Then  I  went, 
crying  thrice  like  a  jackal,  to  the  appointed  place  which 
was  near  the  byre  of  the  headman's  house.  But  my 
Love  was  already  there,  weeping.  She  feared  that  the 
flood  had  swept  my  hut  at  the  Barhwi  Ford.  When  I 
came  softly  through  the  ankle-deep  water,  She  thought 
it  was  a  ghost  and  would  have  fled,  but  I  put  my  arms 
round  Her,  and  —  I  was  no  ghost  in  those  days,  though 
I  am  an  old  man  now.  Ho !  Ho  !  Dried  corn,  in 
truth.  Maize  without  juice.  Ho!  Ho!1 

I  told  Her  the  story  of  the  breaking  of  the  Barhwi 
Bridge,  and  She  said  that  I  was  greater  than  mortal 
man,  for  none  ma}*  cross  the  Barhwi  in  full  flood,  and 
I  had  seen  what  never  man  had  seen  before.     Hand  in 
hand  we  went  to  the  knoll  where  the  dead  lay,  and  I 
showed  Her  by  what  help  I  had  made  the  ford.     She 
looked  also  upon  the  body  under  the  stars,  for  the  latter 
end  of  the  night  was  clear,  and  hid  Her  face  in  Her 

I 1  grieve  to  say  that  the  Warden  of  Barhwi  Ford  is  responsible  here 
for  two  very  bad  puns  in  the  vernacular  — E.  K. 


IN  FLOOD   TIME  281 

hands,  crying :  *  It  is  the  body  of  Hirnam  Singh  ! '  I 
said :  '  The  swine  is  of  more  use  dead  than  living,  my 
Beloved,'  and  She  said :  '  Surely,  for  he  has  saved  the 
dearest  life  in  the  world  to  my  love.  None  the  less,  he 
cannot  stay  here,  for  that  would  bring  shame  upon  me.' 
The  body  was  not  a  gunshot  from  Her  door. 

Then  said  I,  rolling  the  body  with  my  hands :  '  God 
hath  judged  between  us,  Hirnam  Singh,  that  thy  blood 
might  not  be  upon  my  head.  Now,  whether  I  have 
done  thee  a  wrong  in  keeping  thee  from  the  burning- 
ghat,  do  thou  and  the  crows  settle  together.'  So  I  cast 
him  adrift  into  the  flood-water,  and  he  was  drawn  out 
to  the  open,  ever  wagging  his  thick  black  beard  like  a 
priest  under  the  pulpit-board.  And  I  saw  no  more  of 
Hirnam  Singh. 

Before  the  breaking  of  the  day  we  two  parted,  and 
1  moved  towards  such  of  the  jungle  as  was  not  flooded. 
With  the  full  light  I  saw  what  I  had  done  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  the  bones  of  my  body  were  loosened  in  my 
flesh,  for  there  ran  two  kos  of  raging  water  between 
the  village  of  Pateera  and  the  trees  of  the  far  bank, 
and,  in  the  middle,  the  piers  of  the  Barhwi  Bridge 
showed  like  broken  teeth  in  the  jaw  of  an  old  man. 
Nor  was  there  any  life  upon  the  waters  —  neither  birds 
nor  boats,  but  only  an  army  of  drowned  things  —  bul- 
locks and  horses  and  men  —  and  the  river  was  redder 
than  blood  from  the  clay  of  the  foot-hills.  Never  had  I 
seen  such  a  flood  —  never  since  that  year  have  I  seen 
the  like  —  and,  O  Sahib,  no  man  living  had  done  what 
I  had  done.  There  was  no  return  for  me  that  day. 
Not  for  all  the  lands  of  the  headman  would  I  venture  a 
second  time  without  the  shield  of  darkness  that  cloaks 
danger  I  went  a  kos  up  the  river  to  the  house  of  a 


282  IN  FLOOD  TIME 

blacksmith,  saying  that  the  flood  had  swept  me  from  my 
hut,  and  they  gave  me  food.  Seven  days  I  stayed  with 
the  blacksmith,  till  a  boat  came  and  I  returned  to  my 
house.  There  was  no  trace  of  wall,  or  roof,  or  floor  — 
naught  but  a  patch  of  slimy  mud.  Judge,  therefore, 
Sahib,  how  far  the  river  must  have  risen. 

It  was  written  that  I  should  not  die  either  in  my 
house,  or  in  the  heart  of  the  Barhwi,  or  under  the 
wreck  of  the  Barhwi  Bridge,  for  God  sent  down  Hirnam 
Singh  two  days  dead,  though  I  know  not  how  the  man 
died,  to  be  rny  buoy  and  support.  Hirnam  Singh  has 
been  in  Hell  these  twenty  years,  and  the  thought  of 
that  night  must  be  the  flower  of  his  torment. 

Listen,  Sahib !  The  river  has  changed  its  voice.  It 
is  going  to  sleep  before  the  dawn,  to  which  there  is  yet 
one  hour.  With  the  light  it  will  come  down  afresh. 
How  do  I  know  ?  Have  I  been  here  thirty  years  with- 
out knowing  the  voice  of  the  river  as  a  father  knows 
the  voice  of  his  son  ?  Every  moment  it  is  talking  less 
angrily.  I  swear  that  there  will  be  no  danger  for  one 
hour  or,  perhaps,  two.  I  cannot  answer  for  the  morn- 
ing. Be  quick,  Sahib !  I  will  call  Ram  Pershad,  and 
he  will  not  turn  back  this  time.  Is  the  paulin  tightly 
corded  upon  all  the  baggage  ?  Ohe,  mahout  with  a  mud 
head,  the  elephant  for  the  Sahib,  and  tell  them  on  the 
far  side  that  there  will  be  no  crossing  after  daylight. 

Money  ?  Nay,  Sahib.  I  am  not  of  that  kind.  No, 
not  even  to  give  sweetmeats  to  the  baby-folk.  My 
house,  look  you,  is  empty,  and  I  am  an  old  man. 

Dutt,  Ram  Pershad!  Dutt!  Dutt!  Dutt!  Good 
luck  go  with  you.  Sahib. 


THE   SENDING   OF  DANA  DA 

When  the  Devil  rides  on  your  chest  remember  the  chamar.  — 
Native  Proverb. 

ONCE  upon  a  time,  some  people  in  India  made  a  new 
Heaven  and  a  new  Earth  out  of  broken  tea-cups,  a  miss- 
ing brooch  or  two,  and  a  hair-brush.  These  were  hidden 
under  bushes,  or  stuffed  into  holes  in  the  hillside,  and 
an  entire  Civil  Service  of  subordinate  Gods  used  to  find 
or  mend  them  again ;  and  every  one  said :  '  There  are 
more  things  in  Heaven  and  Earth  than  are  dreamt  of  in 
our  philosophy.  Several  other  things  happened  also, 
but  the  Religion  never  seemed  to  get  much  beyond  its 
first  manifestations  ;  though  it  added  an  air-line  postal 
service,  and  orchestral  effects  in  order  to  keep  abreast 
of  the  times,  and  choke  off  competition. 

This  Religion  was  too  elastic  for  ordinary  use.  It 
stretched  itself  and  embraced  pieces  of  everything  that 
the  medicine-men  of  all  ages  have  manufactured.  It 
approved  of  and  stole  from  Freemasonry ;  looted  the 
Latter-day  Rosicrucians  of  half  their  pet  words  ;  took 
any  fragments  of  Egyptian  philosophy  that  it  found  in 
the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica  ;  annexed  as  many  of  the 
Vedas  as  had  been  translated  into  French  or  English, 
and  talked  of  all  the  rest;  built  in  the  German  versions 
of  what  is  left  of  the  Zend  A  vesta;  encouraged  White, 
Gray  and  Black  Magic,  including  spiritualism,  pal- 
mistry, fortune-telling  by  cards,  hot  chestnuts,  double - 


284  THE  SENDING  OF  DANA  DA 

kernelled  nuts  and  tallow  droppings;  would  have 
adopted  Voodoo  and  Oboe  had  it  known  anything 
about  them,  and  showed  itself,  in  every  way,  one  of  the 
most  accommodating  arrangements  that  had  ever  been 
invented  since  the  birth  of  the  Sea. 

When  it  was  in  thorough  working  order,  with  all  the 
machinery,  down  to  the  subscriptions,  complete,  Dana 
Da  came  from  nowhere,  with  nothing  in  his  hands,  and 
wrote  a  chapter  in  its  history  which  has  hitherto  been 
unpublished.  He  said  that  his  first  name  was  Dana, 
and  his  second  was  Da.  Now,  setting  aside  Dana  of 
the  New  York  Sun,  Dana  is  a  Bhil  name,  and  Da  fits  no 
native  of  India  unless  you  except  the  Bengali  De*  as  the 
original  spelling.  Da  is  Lap  or  Finnish ;  and  Dana  Da 
was  neither  Finn,  Chin,  Bhil,  Bengali,  Lap,  Nair,  Gond, 
Romaney,  Magh,  Bokhariot,  Kurd,  Armenian,  Levantine, 
Jew,  Persian,  Punjabi,  Madrasi,  Parsee,  nor  anything 
else  known  to  ethnologists.  He  was  simply  Dana  Da, 
and  declined  to  give  further  information.  For  the  sake 
of  brevity  and  as  roughly  indicating  his  origin,  he  was 
called  4  The  Native.'  He  might  have  been  the  original 
Old  Man  of  the  Mountains,  who  is  said  to  be  the  only 
authorised  head  of  the  Tea-cup  Creed.  Some  people 
said  that  he  was ;  but  Dana  Da  used  to  smile  and  deny 
any  connection  with  the  cult;  explaining  that  he  was 
an  '  Independent  Experimenter.' 

As  I  have  said,  he  came  from  nowhere,  with  his  hands 
behind  his  back,  and  studied  the  Creed  for  three  weeks ; 
sitting  at  the  feet  of  those  best  competent  to  explain  its 
mysteries.  Then  he  laughed  aloud  and  went  away,  but 
the  laugh  might  have  been  either  of  devotion  or 
derision. 

When  he  returned  he  was  without  money,  but  his 


THE   SENDING  OF  DANA  DA  285 

pride  was  unabated.  He  declared  that  he  knew  more 
about  the  Things  in  Heaven  and  Earth  than  those  who 
taught  him,  and  for  this  contumacy  was  abandoned 
altogether. 

His  next  appearance  in  public  life  was  at  a  big  canton- 
ment in  Upper  India,  and  he  was  then  telling  fortunes 
with  the  help  of  three  leaden  dice,  a  very  dirty  old 
cloth,  and  a  little  tin  box  of  opium  pills.  He  told 
better  fortunes  when  he  was  allowed  half  a  bottle  of 
whiskey ;  but  the  things  which  he  invented  on  the 
opium  were  quite  worth  the  money.  He  was  in  reduced 
circumstances.  Among  other  people's  he  told  the  fort- 
une of  an  Englishman  who  had  once  been  interested 
in  the  Simla  Creed,  but  who,  later  on,  had  married 
and  forgotten  all  his  old  knowledge  in  the  study  of 
babies  and  things.  The  Englishman  allowed  Dana  Da 
to  tell  a  fortune  for  charity's  sake,  and  gave  hirn  five 
rupees,  a  dinner,  and  some  old  clothes.  When  he  had 
eaten,  Dana  Da  professed  gratitude,  and  asked  if  there 
were  anything  he  could  do  for  his  host  —  in  the  esoteric 
line. 

'  Is  there  any  one  that  you  love  ? '  said  Dana  Da. 
The  Englishman  loved  his  wife,  but  had  no  desire  to 
drag  her  name  into  the  conversation.  He  therefore 
shook  his  head. 

'  Is  there  any  one  that  you  hate  ? '  said  Dana  Da. 
The  Englishman  said  that  there  were  several  men 
whom  he  hated  deeply. 

'  Very  good,'  said  Dana  Da,  upon  whom  the  whiskey 
and  the  opium  were  beginning  to  tell.  '  Only  give  me 
their  names,  and  I  will  despatch  a  Sending  to  them 
and  kill  them.' 

Now  a  Sending:  is  a  horrible  arrangement,  first  in- 


286  THE   SENDING   OF   DANA  DA 

vented,  they  say,  in  Iceland.  It  is  a  Thing  sent  by  a 
wizard,  and  may  take  any  form,  but,  most  generally, 
wanders  about  the  land  in  the  shape  of  a  little  purple 
cloud  till  it  finds  the  Sendee,  and  him  it  kills  by  chang- 
ing into  the  form  of  a  horse,  or  a  cat,  or  a  man  without 
a  face.  It  is  not  strictly  a  native  patent,  though  char 
mars  of  the  skin  and  hide  castes  can,  if  irritated,  de 
spatch  a  Sending  which  sits  on  the  breast  of  their 
enemy  by  night  and  nearly  kills  him.  Very  few  natives 
care  to  irritate  chamars  for  this  reason. 

'  Let  me  despatch  a  Sending,'  said  Dana  Da ;  *  I  am 
nearly  dead  now  with  want,  and  drink,  and  opium, 
but  I  should  like  to  kill  a  man  before  I  die.  I  can 
send  a  Sending  anywhere  you  choose,  and  in  any  form 
except  in  the  shape  of  a  man.' 

The  Englishman  had  no  friends  that  he  wished  to 
kill,  but  partly  to  soothe  Dana  Da,  whose  eyes  were 
rolling,  and  partly  to  see  what  would  be  done,  he  asked 
whether  a  modified  Sending  could  not  be  arranged  for 
—  such  a  Sending  as  should  make  a  man's  life  a  burden 
to  him,  and  yet  do  him  no  harm.  If  this  were  possible, 
he  notified  his  willingness  to  give  Dana  Da  ten  rupees 
for  the  job. 

'  I  am  not  what  I  was  once,'  said  Dana  Da,  '  and  I 
must  take  the  money  because  I  am  poor.  To  what 
Englishman  shall  I  send  it  ? ' 

o 

'  Send  a  Sending  to  Lone  Sahib,'  said  the  Englishman, 
naming  a  man  who  had  been  most  bitter  in  rebuking 
him  for  his  apostasy  from  the  Tea-cup  Creed.  Dana 
Da  laughed  and  nodded. 

'  I  could  have  chosen  no  better  man  myself,'  said  he. 
4 1  will  see  that  he  finds  the  Sending  about  his  path 
and  about  his  bed.' 


THE  6ENDING  OF  DANA   DA  287 

He  lay  down  on  the  hearth-rug,  turned  up  the  whites 
of  his  eyes,  shivered  all  over  and  began  to  snort.  This 
was  Magic,  or  Opium,  or  the  Sending,  or  all  three. 
When  he  opened  his  eyes  he  vowed  that  the  Send- 
ing had  started  upon  the  war-path,  and  was  at  that 
moment  flying  up  to  the  town  where  Lone  Sahib 
lives. 

'  Give  me  my  ten  rupees,'  said  Dana  Da  wearily, 
'  and  write  a  letter  to  Lone  Sahib,  telling  him,  and  all 
who  believe  with  him,  that  you  and  a  friend  are  using 
a  power  greater  than  theirs.  They  will  see  that  you 
are  speaking  the  truth.' 

He  departed  unsteadily,  with  the  promise  of  some 
more  rupees  if  anything  came  of  the  Sending. 

The  Englishman  sent  a  letter  to  Lone  Sahib,  couched 
in  what  he  remembered  of  the  terminology  of  the 
Creed.  He  wrote  :  '  I  also,  in  the  days  of  what  you  held 
to  be  my  backsliding,  have  obtained  Enlightenment,  and 
with  Enlightenment  has  come  Power.'  Then  he  grew 
so  deeply  mysterious  that  the  recipient  of  the  letter 
could  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  it,  and  was  propor- 
tionately impressed;  for  he  fancied  that  his  friend  had 
become  a  'fifth-rounder.'  When  a  man  is  a  'fifth- 
rounder  '  he  can  do  more  than  Slade  and  Houdin 
combined. 

Lone  Sahib  read  the  letter  in  five  different  fashions, 
and  was  beginning  a  sixth  interpretation  when  his 
bearer  dashed  in  with  the  news  that  there  was  a  cat  on 
the  bed.  Now  if  there  was  one  tiling  that  Lone  Sahib 
hated  more  than  another,  it  was  a  cat.  He  scolded  the 
bearer  for  not  turning  it  out  of  the  house.  The  bearer 
said  that  he  was  afraid.  All  the  doors  of  the  bedroom 
had  been  shut  throughout  the  morning,  and  no  real  cat 


288  THE   SENDING  OF  DANA  DA 

could  possibly  have  entered  the  room.  He  would  pre- 
fer not  to  meddle  with  the  creature. 

Lone  Sahib  entered  the  room  gingerly,  and  there,  on 
the  pillow  of  his  bed,  sprawled  and  whimpered  a  wee 
white  kitten ;  not  a  jumpsome,  frisky  little  beast,  but  a 
slug-like  crawler  with  its  eyes  barely  opened  and  its 
paws  lacking  strength  or  direction — a  kitten  that  ought 
to  have  been  in  a  basket  with  its  mamma.  Lone  Sahib 
caught  it  by  the  scruff  of  its  neck,  handed  it  over  to  the 
sweeper  to  be  drowned,  and  fined  the  bearer  four  annas. 

That  evening,  as  he  was  reading  in  his  room,  he 
fancied  that  he  saw  something  moving  about  on  the 
hearth-rug,  outside  the  circle  of  light  from  his  reading- 
lamp.  When  the  thing  began  to  myowl,  he  realised 
that  it  was  a  kitten  —  a  wee  white  kitten,  nearly  blind 
and  very  miserable.  He  was  seriously  angry,  and 
spoke  bitterly  to  his  bearer,  who  said  that  there  was 
no  kitten  in  the  room  when  he  brought  in  the  lamp, 
and  real  kittens  of  tender  age  generally  had  mother- 
cats  in  attendance. 

'If  the  Presence  will  go  out  into  the  veranda  and 
listen,'  said  the  bearer,  'he  will  hear  no  cats.  How, 
therefore,  can  the  kitten  on  the  bed  and  the  kitten  on 
the  hearth-rug  be  real  kittens  ? ' 

Lone  Sahib  went  out  to  listen,  and  the  bearer  followed 
him,  but  there  was  no  sound  of  any  one  mewing  for  her 
children.  He  returned  to  his  room,  having  hurled  the 
kitten  down  the  hillside,  and  wrote  out  the  incidents 
of  the  day  for  the  benefit  of  his  co-religionists.  Those 
people  were  so  absolutely  free  from  superstition  that 
they  ascribed  anything  a  little  out  of  the  common 
to  Agencies.  As  it  was  their  business  to  know  all  about 
the  Agencies,  they  were  on  terms  of  almost  indecent 


THE   SENDING  OF  DANA  DA  289 

familiarity  with  Manifestations  of  every  kind.  Their 
letters  dropped  from  the  ceiling  —  unstamped  —  and 
Spirits  used  to  squatter  up  and  down  their  staircases 
all  night ;  but  they  had  never  come  into  contact  with 
kittens.  Lone  Sahib  wrote  out  the  facts,  noting  the 
hour  and  the  minute,  as  every  Psychical  Observer  is 
bound  to  do,  and  appending  the  Englishman's  letter 
because  it  was  the  most  mysterious  document  and  might 
have  had  a  bearing  upon  anything  in  this  world  or  the 
next.  An  outsider  would  have  translated  all  the  tangle 
thus :  '  Look  out !  You  laughed  at  me  once,  and  now 
I  am  going  to  make  you  sit  up.' 

Lone  Sahib's  co-religionists  found  that  meaning  in  it ; 
but  their  translation  was  refined  and  full  of  four-syllable 
words.  They  held  a  sederunt,  and  were  filled  with 
tremulous  joy,  for,  in  spite  of  their  familiarity  with  all 
the  other  worlds  and  cycles,  they  had  a  very  human 
awe  of  things  sent  from  Ghost-land.  They  met  in  Lone 
Sahib's  room  in  shrouded  and  sepulchral  gloom,  and 
their  conclave  was  broken  up  by  a  clinking  among  the 
photo-frames  on  the  mantelpiece.  A  wee  white  kitten, 
nearly  blind,  was  looping  and  writhing  itself  between 
the  clock  and  the  candlesticks.  That  stopped  all 
investigations  or  doubting.  Here  was  the  Manifesta- 

o  o 

tion  in  the  flesh.  It  was,  so  far  as  could  be  seen,  devoid 
of  purpose,  but  it  was  a  Manifestation  of  undoubted 
authenticity. 

They  drafted  a  Round  Robin  to  the  Englishman,  the 
backslider  of  old  days,  adjuring  him  in  the  interests  of 
the  Creed  to  explain  whether  there  was  any  connection 
between  the  embodiment  of  some  Egyptian  God  or  other 
[I  have  forgotten  the  name]  and  his  communication. 
They  called  the  kitten  Ra,  or  Toth,  or  Turn,  or  some' 


290  THE   SENDING   OF  DANA  DA 

thing;  and  when  Lone  Sahib  confessed  that  the  first 
one  had,  at  his  most  misguided  instance,  been  drowned 
by  the  sweeper,  they  said  consolingly  that  in  his  next 
life  he  would  be  a  'bounder,'  and  not  even  a  'rounder' 
of  the  lowest  grade.  These  words  may  not  be  quite 
correct,  but  they  accurately  express  the  sense  of  the 
house. 

When  the  Englishman  received  the  Round  Robin  — 
it  came  by  post  —  he  was  startled  and  bewildered.  He 
sent  into  the  bazar  for  Dana  Da,  who  read  the  letter 
and  laughed.  '  That  is  my  Sending.'  said  he.  '  I  told 
you  I  would  work  well.  Now  give  me  another  ten 
rupees.' 

'  But  what  in  the  world  is  this  gibberish  about  Egyp- 
tian Gods  ?  '  asked  the  Englishman. 

'  Cats,'  said  Dana  Da  with  a  hiccough,  for  he  had  dis- 
covered the  Englishman's  whiskey  bottle.  'Cats,  and 
cats,  and  cats !  Never  was  such  a  Sending.  A  hundred 
of  cats.  Now  give  me  ten  more  rupees  and  write  as  I 
dictate.' 

Dana  Da's  letter  was  a  curiosity.  It  bore  the  English- 
man's signature,  and  hinted  at  cats  —  at  a  Sending  of 
Cats.  The  mere  words  on  paper  were  creepy  and 
uncanny  to  behold. 

'What  have  you  done,  though?'  said  the  English- 
man ;  '  I  am  as  mucn  in  the  dark  as  ever.  Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  you  can  actually  send  this  absurd  Sending 
you  talk  about  ? ' 

'  Judge  for  yourself,'  said  Dana  Da.  '  What  does  that 
letter  mean  ?  In  a  little  time  they  will  all  be  at  my  feet 
and  yours,  and  I  —  O  Glory !  —  will  be  drugged  or 
drunk  all  day  long.' 

Dana  Da  knew  his  people. 


THE   SENDING  OF  DANA  DA  291 

When  a  man  who  hates  cats  wakes  up  in  the  morn- 
ing and  finds  a  little  squirming  kitten  on  his  breast,  or 
puts  his  hand  into  his  ulster-pocket  and  finds  a  little 
half-dead  kitten  where  his  gloves  should  be,  or  opens 
his  trunk  and  finds  a  vile  kitten  among  his  dress-shirts, 
or  goes  for  a  long  ride  with  his  mackintosh  strapped  on 
his  saddle-bow  and  shakes  a  little  squawling  kitten  from 
its  folds  when  he  opens  it,  or  goes  out  to  dinner  and 
finds  a  little  blind  kitten  under  his  chair,  or  stays  at 
home  and  finds  a  writhing  kitten  under  the  quilt,  or 
wriggling  among  his  boots,  or  hanging,  head  down- 
wards, in  his  tobacco-jar,  or  being  mangled  by  his  terrier 
in  the  veranda,  —  when  such  a  man  finds  one  kitten, 
neither  more  nor  less,  once  a  day  in  a  place  where  no 
kitten  rightly  could  or  should  be,  lie  is  naturally  upset. 
When  he  dare  not  murder  his  daily  trove  because  he 
believes  it  to  be  a  Manifestation,  an  Emissary,  an  Embod- 
iment, and  half  a  dozen  other  things  all  out  of  the  reg- 
ular course  of  nature,  he  is  more  than  upset.  He  is 
actually  distressed.  Some  of  Lone  Sahib's  co-religion- 
ists thought  that  he  was  a  highly  favoured  individual ; 
but  many  said  that  if  he  had  treated  the  first  kitten 
with  proper  respect  —  as  suited  a  Toth-Ra-Tum-Sen- 
nacherib  Embodiment  —  all  this  trouble  would  have  been 
averted.  They  compared  him  to  the  Ancient  Mariner, 
but  none  the  less  they  were  proud  of  him  and  proud  of 
the  Englishman  who  had  sent  the  Manifestation.  They 
did  not  call  it  a  Sending  because  Icelandic  magic  was 
not  in  their  programme. 

After  sixteen  kittens,  that  is  to  say  after  one  fort- 
night, for  there  were  three  kittens  on  the  first  day  to 
impress  the  fact  of  the  Sending,  the  whole  camp  was 
uplifted  by  a  letter  —  it  came  living  through  a  window 


292  THE   SENDING   OF  DANA  DA 

—  from  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountains  —  the  Head  of 
all  the  Creed  —  explaining  the  Manifestation  in  the 
most  beautiful  language  and  soaking  up  all  the  credit  of 
it  for  himself.  The  Englishman,  said  the  letter,  was 
not  there  at  all.  He  was  a  backslider  without  Power 
or  Asceticism,  who  couldn't  even  raise  a  table  by  force 
of  volition,  much  less  project  an  army  of  kittens  through 
space.  The  entire  arrangement,  said  the  letter,  was 
strictly  orthodox,  worked  and  sanctioned  by  the  highest 
Authorities  within  the  pale  of  the  Creed.  There  was 
great  joy  at  this,  for  some  of  the  weaker  brethren  seeing 
that  an  outsider  who  had  been  working  on  independent 
lines  could  create  kittens,  whereas  their  own  rulers  had 
never  gone  beyond  crockery — and  broken  at  best  — 
were  showing  a  desire  to  break  line  on  their  own  trail. 
In  fact,  there  was  the  promise  of  a  schism.  A  second 
Round  Robin  was  drafted  to  the  Englishman,  beginning: 
4  O  Scoffer,'  and  ending  with  a  selection  of  curses  from 
the  Rites  of  Mizraim  and  Memphis  and  the  Commina- 
tion  of  Jugana,  who  was  a  '  fifth-rounder,'  upon  whose 
name  an  upstart  4  third-rounder '  once  traded.  A  papal 
excommunication  is  a  billet-doux  compared  to  the  Com- 
mination  of  Jugana.  The  Englishman  had  been  proved, 
under  the  hand  and  seal  of  the  Old  Man  of  the  Moun- 
tains, to  have  appropriated  Virtue  and  pretended  to 
have  Power  which,  in  reality,  belonged  only  to  the 
Supreme  Head.  Naturally  the  Round  Robin  did  not 
spare  him. 

He  handed  the  letter  to  Dana  Da  to  translate  into 
decent  English.  The  effect  on  Dana  Da  was  curious. 
At  first  he  was  furiously  angry,  and  then  he  laughed 
for  five  minutes. 

4 1  had  thought,'  he  said,  4that  they  would  have  come 


THE   SENDING   OF   DANA   DA  293 

to  me.  In  another  week  I  would  have  shown  that  I 
sent  the  Sending,  and  they  would  have  discrowned  the 
Old  Man  of  the  Mountains  who  has  sent  this  Sending 
of  mine.  Do  you  do  nothing.  The  time  has  come  for 
me  to  act.  Write  as  I  dictate,  and  I  will  put  them  to 
shame.  But  give  me  ten  more  rupees.' 

At  Dana  Da's  dictation  the  Englishman  wrote  noth- 
ing less  than  a  formal  challenge  to  the  Old  Man  of  the 
Mountains.  It-  wound  up  :  '  And  if  this  Manifestation 
be  from  your  hand,  then  let  it  go  forward  ;  but  if  it  be 
from  my  hand,  I  will  that  the  Sending  shall  cease  in 
two  days'  time.  On  that  day  there  shall  be  twelve  kit- 
tens and  thenceforward  none  at  all.  The  people  shall 
judge  between  us.'  This  was  signed  by  Dana  Da,  who 
added  pentacles  and  pentagrams,  and  a  crux  amata,  and 
half  a  dozen  swastikas,  and  a  Triple  Tau  to  his  name, 
just  to  show  that  he  was  all  he  laid  claim  to  be. 

The  challenge  was  read  out  to  the  gentlemen  and 
ladies,  and  they  remembered  then  that  Dana  Da  had 
laughed  at  them  some  years  ago.  It  was  officially  an- 
nounced that  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountains  would 
treat  the  matter  with  contempt;  Dana  Da  being  an 
Independent  Investigator  without  a  single  'round'  at 
the  back  of  him.  But  this  did  not  soothe  his  people. 
They  wanted  to  see  a  fight.  They  were  very  human 
for  all  their  spirituality.  Lone  Sahib,  who  was  really 
being  worn  out  with  kittens,  submitted  meekly  to  his 
fate.  He  felt  that  he  was  being  '  kiotened  to  prove  the 
power  of  Dana  Da,'  as  the  poet  says. 

When  the  stated  day  dawned,  the  shower  of  kittens 
began.  Some  were  white  and  some  were  tabby,  and  all 
were  about  the  same  loathsome  age.  Three  were  on  his 
hearth-rug,  three  in  his  bath-room,  and  the  other  six 


294  THE   SENDING  OF  DANA  DA 

turned  up  at  intervals  among  the  visitors  who  came  to 
see  the  prophecy  break  down.  Never  was  a  more  satis- 
factory Sending.  On  the  next  day  there  were  no  kit- 
tens, and  the  next  day  and  all  the  other  days  were 
kittenless  and  quiet.  The  people  murmured  and  looked 
to  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountains  for  an  explanation. 
A  letter,  written  on  a  palm-leaf,  dropped  from  the  ceil- 
ing, but  every  one  except  Lone  Sahib  felt  that  letters 
were  not  what  the  occasion  demanded.  There  should 
have  been  cats,  there  should  have  been  cats, —  full- 
grown  ones.  The  letter  proved  conclusively  that  there 
had  been  a  hitch  in  the  Psychic  Current  which,  collid- 
ing with  a  Dual  Identity,  had  interfered  with  the  Per- 
cipient Activity  all  along  the  main  line.  The  kittens 
were  still  going  on,  but  owing  to  some  failure  in  the 
Developing  Fluid,  they  were  not  materialised.  The  air 
was  thick  with  letters  for  a  few  days  afterwards.  Un- 
seen hands  played  Gliick  and  Beethoven  on  finger-bowls 
and  clock-shades;  but  all  men  felt  that  Psychic  Life 
was  a  mockery  without  materialised  Kittens.  Even 
Lone  Sahib  shouted  with  the  majority  on  this  head. 
Dana  Da's  letters  were  very  insulting,  and  if  he  had 
then  offered  to  lead  a  new  departure,  there  is  no  know' 
ing  what  might  not  have  happened. 

But  Dana  Da  was  dying  of  whiskey  and  opium  in 
the  Englishman's  godown,  and  had  small  heart  for 
honours. 

'  They  have  been  put  to  shame,'  said  he.  '  Never  was 
such  a  Sending.  It  has  killed  me.' 

'  Nonsense,'  said  the  Englishman,  '  you  are  going  to 
die,  Dana  Da,  and  that  sort  of  stuff  must  be  left  behind. 
I'll  admit  that  you  have  made  some  queer  things  come 
about.  Tell  me  honestly,  now,  ho\v  was  it  done  ? ' 


THE   SENDING  OF  DANA   DA  295 

'Give  me  ten  more  rupees,'  said  Dana  Da  faintly, 
'  and  if  I  die  before  I  spend  them,  bury  them  with  me.' 
The  silver  was  counted  out  while  Dana  Da  was  fight- 
ing with  Death.  His  hand  closed  upon  the  money  and 
he  smiled  a  grim  smile. 

4  Bend  low,'  he  whispered.     The  Englishman  bent. 

4  Bunnia  —  Mission-school  —  expelled  —  box-wallah 
(  peddler  )  —  Ceylon  pearl-merchant  —  all  mine  Eng- 
lish education  —  out-casted,  and  made  up  name  Dana 
Da  —  England  with  American  thought-reading  man  and 
—  and — you  gave  me  ten  rupees  several  times  —  I 
gave  the  Sahib's  bearer  two-eight  a  month  for  cats  — 
little,  little  cats.  I  wrote,  and  he  put  them  about  — 
very  clever  man.  Very  few  kittens  now  in  the  bazar. 
Ask  Lone  Sahib's  sweeper's  wife.' 

So  saying,  Dana  Da  gasped  and  passed  away  into  a 
land  where,  if  all  be  true,  there  are  no  materialisations 
and  the  making  of  new  creeds  is  discouraged. 

But  consider  the  gorgeous  simplicity  of  it  all! 


ON  THE  CITY  WALL 

Then  she  let  them  down  by  a  cord  through  the  window ;  for  her 
house  was  upon  the  town-wall,  and  she  dwelt  upon  the  wall.  — Joshua 
ii.  15. 

LALUN  is  a  member  of  the  most  ancient  profession  in 
the  world.  Lilith  was  her  very-great-grandmamnia, 
and  that  was  before  the  days  of,  Eve  as  every  one 
knows.  In  the  West,  people  say  rude  things  about 
Lalun's  profession,  and  write  lectures  about  it,  and 
distribute  the  lectures  to  young  persons  in  order  that 
Morality  may  be  preserved.  In  the  East  where  the 
profession  is  hereditary,  descending  from  mother  to 
daughter,  nobody  writes  lectures  or  takes  any  notice ; 
and  that  is  a  distinct  proof  of  the  inability  of  the  East 
to  manage  its  own  affairs. 

Lalun's  real  husband,  for  even  ladies  of  Lalun's 
profession  in  the  East  must  have  husbands,  was  a  big 
jujube-tree.  Her  Mamma,  who  had  married  a  tig- tree, 
spent  ten  thousand  rupees  on  Lalun's  wedding,  which 
was  blessed  by  forty-seven  clergyman  of  Mamma's 
church,  and  distributed  five  thousand  rupees  in  charity 
to  the  poor,  And  that  was  the  custom  of  the  land. 
The  advantages  of  having  a  jujube-tree  for  a  husband 
are  obvious.  You  cannot  hurt  his  feelings,  and  he 
looks  imposing. 

Lalun's  husband  stood  on  the  plain  outside  the  City 
walls,  and  Lalun's  house  was  upon  the  east  wall  facing 

296 


ON  THE  CITY   WALL  297 

the  river,  If  you  fell  from  the  broad  window-seat  you 
dropped  thirty  feet  sheer  into  the  City  Ditch.  But  if 
you  stayed  where  you  should  and  looked  forth,  you 
saw  all  the  cattle  of  the  City  being  driven  down  to 
water,  the  students  of  the  Government  College  play- 
ing cricket,  the  high  grass  and  trees  that  fringed  the 
river-bank,  the  great  sand  bars  that  ribbed  the  river, 
the  red  tombs  of  dead  Emperors  beyond  the  river, 
and  very  far  away  through  the  blue  heat-haze,  a  glint 
of  the  snows  of  the  Himalayas. 

Wali  Dad  used  to  lie  in  the  window-seat  for  hours 
at  a  time  watching  this  view.  He  was  a  young 
Muhammadan  who  was  suffering  acutely  from  educa- 
tion of  the  English  variety  and  knew  it.  His  father 
had  sent  him  to  a  Mission- school  to  get  wisdom,  and 
Wali  Dad  had  absorbed  more  than  ever  his  father  or 
the  Missionaries  intended  he  should.  When  his  father 
died,  Wali  Dad  was  independent  and  spent  two  years 
experimenting  with  the  creeds  of  the  Earth  and  reading 
books  that  are  of  no  use  to-  anybody. 

After  he  had  made  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  enter 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church  and  the  Presbyterian  fold 
at  the  same  time  (the  Missionaries  found  him  out  and 
called  him  names,  but  they  did  not  understand  his 
trouble),  he  discovered  Lalun  on  the  City  wall  and 
became  the  most  constant  of  her  few  admirers.  He 
possessed  a  head  that  English  artists  at  home  would 
rave  over  and  paint  amid  impossible  surroundings  — 
a  face  that  female  novelists  would  use  with  delight 
through  nine  hundred  pages.  In  reality  he  was  only 
a  clean-bred  young  Muhammadan,  with  pencilled  eye- 
brows, small-cut  nostrils,  little  feet  and  hands,  and  a 
very  tired  look  in  his  eyes.  Bv  virtue  of  his  tweutv- 


298  ON  THE   CITY   WALL 

two  years  lie  had  grown  a  neat  black  beard  which  he 
stroked  with  pride  and  kept  delicately  scented.  His 
life  seemed  to  be  divided  between  borrowing  books 
from  me  and  making  love  to  Lalun  in  the  window- 
seat.  He  composed  songs  about  her,  and  some  of  the 
songs  are  sung  to  this  day  in  the  City  from  the  Street 
of  the  Mutton- Butchers  to  the  Copper-Smiths'  ward. 

One  song,  the  prettiest  of  all,  says  that  the  beauty 
of  Lalun  was  so  great  that  it  troubled  the  hearts  of 
the  British  Government  and  caused  them  to  lose  their 
peace  of  mind.  That  is  the  way  the  song  is  sung  in 
the  streets  ;  but,  if  you  examine  it  carefully  and  know 
the  key  to  the  explanation,  you  will  find  that  there  are 
three  puns  in  it — on  'beauty,'  'heart,' and  'peace  of 
mind,'  —  so  that  it  runs  :  '  By  the  subtlety  of  Lalun 
the  administration  of  the  Government  was  troubled 
and  it  lost  such  and  such  a  man.'  When  Wali  Dad 
sings  that  song  his  eyes  glow  like  hot  coals,  and  Lalun 
leans  back  among  the  cushions  and  throws  bunches  of 
jasmine-buds  at  Wali  Dad. 

But  first  it  is  necessary  to  explain  something  about 
the  Supreme  Government  which  is  above  all  and  below 
all  and  behind  all.  Gentlemen  come  from  England, 
spend  a  few  weeks  in  India,  walk  round  this  great 
Sphinx  of  the  Plains,  and  write  books  upon  its  ways 
and  its  works,  denouncing  or  praising  it  as  their  own 
ignorance  prompts.  Consequently  all  the  world  knows 
how  the  Supreme  Government  conducts  itself.  But 
no  one,  not  even  the  Supreme  Government,  knows 
everything  about  the  administration  of  the  Empire. 
Year  by  year  England  sends  out  fresh  drafts  for  the  first 
fighting-line,  which  is  officially  called  the  Indian  Civil 
Service.  These  die,  or  kill  themselves  by  overwork,  or 


ON  THE  CITY   WALL  29$ 

are  worried  to  death  or  broken  in  health  and  hope  in 
order  that  the  land  may  be  protected  from  death  and 
sickness,  famine  and  war,  and  may  eventually  become 
capable  of  standing  alone.  It  will  never  stand  alone, 
but  the  idea  is  a  pretty  one,  and  men  are  willing  to  die 
for  it,  and  yearly  the  work  of  pushing  and  coaxing  and 
scolding  and  petting  the  country  into  good  living  goes 
forward.  If  an  advance  be  made  all  credit  is  given  to 
the  native,  while  the  Englishmen  stand  back  and  wipe 
their  foreheads.  If  a  failure  occurs  the  Englishmen 
step  forward  and  take  the  blame.  Overmuch  tender- 
ness of  this  kind  has  bred  a  strong  belief  among  many 
natives  that  the  native  is  capable  of  administering  the 
country,  and  many  devout  Englishmen  believe  this  also, 
because  the  theory  is  stated  in  beautiful  English  with 
all  the  latest  political  colour. 

There  be  other  men  who,  though  uneducated,  see 
visions  and  dream  dreams,  and  they,  too,  hope  to  ad- 
minister the  country  in  their  own  way  —  that  is  to  say, 
with  a  garnish  of  Red  Sauce.  Such  men  must  exist 
among  two  hundred  million  people,  and,  if  they  are  not 
attended  to,  may  cause  trouble  and  even  break  the  great 
idol  called  Pax  Britannic,  which,  as  the  newspapers  say, 
lives  between  Peshawur  and  Cape  Comorin.  Were  the 
Day  of  Doom  to  dawn  to-morrow,  you  would  find  the 
Supreme  Government '  taking  measures  to  allay  popular 
excitement'  and  putting  guards  upon  the  graveyards 
that  the  Dead  might  troop  forth  orderly.  The  young- 
est Civilian  would  arrest  Gabriel  on  his  own  responsi- 
bility if  the  Archangel  could  not  produce  a  Deputy 
Commissioner's  permission  to  'make  music  or  other 
noises '  as  the  license  says. 

Whence  it  is  easy  to  see  that  mere  men  of  the  flesh 


300  ON  THE  CITY  WALL 

who  would  create  a  tumult  must  fare  badly  at  the  hands 
of  the  Supreme  Government.  And  they  do.  There 
is  no  outward  sign  of  excitement ;  there  is  no  confu- 
sion ;  there  is  no  knowledge.  When  due  and  sufficient 
reasons  have  been  given,  weighed  and  approved,  the 
machinery  moves  forward,  and  the  dreamer  of  dreams 
and  the  seer  of  visions  is  gone  from  his  friends  and 
following.  He  enjoys  the  hospitality  of  Government ; 
there  is  no  restriction  upon  his  movements  witlu'n  cer- 
tain limits  ;  but  he  must  not  confer  any  more  with  his 
brother  dreamers.  Once  in  every  six  months  the 
Supreme  Government  assures  itself  that  he  is  well 
and  takes  formal  acknowledgment  of  his  existence. 
No  one  protests  against  his  detention,  because  the  few 
people  who  know  about  it  are  in  deadly  fear  of  seem- 
ing to  know  him  ;  and  never  a  single  newspaper  '  takes 
up  his  case '  or  organises  demonstrations  on  his  behalf, 
because  the  newspapers  of  India  have  got  behind  that 
lying  proverb  which  says  the  Pen  is  mightier  than  the 
Sword,  and  can  walk  delicately. 

So  now  you  know  as  much  as  you  ought  about 
Wali  Dad,  the  educational  mixture,  and  the  Supreme 
Government. 

Lalun  has  not  yet  been  described.  She  would  need, 
so  Wali  Dad  says,  a  thousand  pens  of  gold  and  ink 
scented  with  musk.  She  has  been  variously  compared 
to  the  Moon,  the  Dil  Sagar  Lake,  a  spotted  quail,  a 
gazelle,  the  Sun  on  the  Desert  of  Kutch,  the  Dawn,  the 
Stars,  and  the  young  bamboo.  These  comparisons  imply 
that  she  is  beautiful  exceedingly  according  to  the  native 
standards,  which  are  practically  the  same  as  those  of  the 
West.  Her  eyes  are  black  and  her  hair  is  black,  and 
her  eyebrows  are  black  as  leeches  ;  her  mouth  is  tiny 


ON  THE  CITY   WALL  301 

and  says  witty  things ;  her  hands  are  tiny  and  have 
saved  much  money ;  her  feet  are  tiny  and  have  trodden 
on  the  naked  hearts  of  many  men.  But,  as  Wall  Dad 
sings :  '  Lalun  is  Lalun,  and  when  you  have  said  that, 
you  have  only  come  to  the  Beginnings  of  Knowledge.' 

The  little  house  on  the  City  wall  was  just  big  enough 
to  hold  Lalun,  and  her  maid,  and  a  pussy-cat  with  a  sil- 
ver collar.  A  big  pink  and  blue  cut-glass  chandelier 
hung  from  the  ceiling  of  the  reception  room.  A  petty 
Nawab  had  given  Lalun  the  horror,  and  she  kept  it  for 
politeness'  sake.  The  floor  of  the  room  was  of  polished 
chunam,  white  as  curds.  A  latticed  window  of  carved 
wood  was  set  in  one  wall ;  there  was  a  profusion  of 
squabby  pluffy  cushions  and  fat  carpets  everywhere, 
and  Lalun's  silver  huqa,  studded  with  turquoises,  had  a 
special  little  carpet  all  to  its  shining  self.  Wali  Dad 
was  nearly  as  permanent  a  fixture  as  the  chandelier. 
As  I  have  said,  he  lay  in  the  window-seat  and  meditated 
on  Life  and  Death  and  Lalun  —  specially  Lalun.  The 
feet  of  the  young  men  of  the  City  tended  to  her  door- 
ways and  then  —  retired,  for  Lalun  was  a  particular 
maiden,  slow  of  speech,  reserved  of  mind,  and  not  in  the 
least  inclined  to  orgies  which  were  nearly  certain  to  end 
in  strife.  '  If  I  am  of  no  value,  I  am  unworthy  of  this 
honour,'  said  Lalun.  '  If  I  am  of  value,  they  are  un- 
worthy of  Me.'  And  that  was  a  crooked  sentence. 

In  the  long  hot  nights  of  latter  April  and  May  all 
the  City  seemed  to  assemble  in  Lalun's  little  white  room 
to  smoke  and  to  talk.  Shiahs  of  the  grimmest  ami 
most  uncompromising  persuasion ;  Sufis  who  had  lost 
all  belief  in  the  Prophet  and  retained  but  little  in  God ; 
wandering  Hindu  priests  passing  southward  on  their 
way  to  the  Central  India  fairs  and  other  affairs ;  Pun- 


302  ON  THE  CITY  WALL 

dits  in  black  gowns,  with  spectacles  on  .their  noses  and 
undigested  wisdom  in  their  insides ;  bearded  headmen 
of  the  wards ;  Sikhs  with  all  the  details  of  the  latest 
ecclesiastical  scandal  in  the  Golden  Temple ;  red-eyed 
priests  from  beyond  the  Border,  looking  like  trapped 
wolves  and  talking  like  ravens  5  M.A.'s  of  the  Uni- 
versity, very  superior  and  very  voluble  —  all  these  peo- 
ple and  more  also  you  might  find  in  the  white  room. 
Wali  Dad  lay  in  the  window-seat  and  listened  to  the 
talk. 

'It  is  Lalun's  salon,'  said  Wali  Dad  to  me,  'and  it 
is  electic  —  is  not  that  the  word  ?  Outside  of  a  Free- 
mason's Lodge  I  have  never  seen  such  gatherings. 
There  I  dined  once  with  a  Jew  —  a  Yahoudi ! '  He 
spat  into  the  City  Ditch  with  apologies  for  allowing 
national  feelings  to  overcome  him.  '  Though  I  have 
lost  every  belief  in  the  world,'  said  he,  '  and  try  to  be 
proud  of  my  losing,  I  cannot  help  hating  a  Jew.  Lalun 
udmits  no  Jews  here.' 

'  But  what  in  the  world  do  all  these  men  do  ?'  I  asked. 

'The  curse  of  our  country,'  said  Wali  Dad.  'They 
talk.  It  is  like  the  Athenians  —  always  hearing  and 
telling  some  new  thing.  Ask  the  Pearl  and  she  will 
show  you  how  much  she  knows  of  the  news  of  the  City 
and  the  Province.  Lalun  knows  everything.' 

'Lalun,'  I  said  at  random  —  she  was  talking  to  a 
gentleman  of  the  Kurd  persuasion  who  had  come  in 
from  God-knows-where  —  '  when  does  the  175th  Regi- 
ment go  to  Agra? ' 

'  It  does  not  go  at  all,'  said  Lalun,  without  turning 
her  head.  '  They  have  ordered  the  118th  to  go  in  its 
stead.  That  Regiment  goes  to  Lucknow  in  three 
months,  unless  they  give  a  fresh  order-' 


ON  THE    CITY   WALL  303 

'That  is  so,'  said  Wali  Dad  without  a  shade  of 
doubt.  '  Can  you,  with  your  telegrams  and  your  news- 
papers, do  better?  Always  hearing  and  telling  some 
new  thing,'  he  went  on.  'My  friend,  has  your  God 
ever  smitten  a  European  nation  for  gossiping  in  the 
bazars  ?  India  has  gossiped  for  centuries  —  always 
standing  in.  the  bazars  until  the  soldiers  go  by.  There- 
fore —  you  are  here  to-day  instead  of  starving  in  your 
own  country,  and  I  am  not  a  Muhammadan  —  I  am  a 
Product  —  a  Demnition  Product.  That  also  I  owe  to 
you  and  yours  :  that  I  cannot  make  an  end  to  my  sen- 
tence without  quoting  from  your  authors.'  He  pulled 
at  the  huqa  and  mourned,  half  feelingly,  half  in  earnest, 
for  the  shattered  hopes  of  his  youth.  Wali  Dad  was 
always  mourning  over  something  or  other  —  the  coun- 
try of  which  he  despaired,  or  the  creed  in  which  he 
had  lost  faith,  or  the  life  of  the  English  which  he  could 
by  no  means  understand. 

Lalim  never  mourned.  She  played  little  songs  on 
the  sitar,  and  to  hear  her  sing,  '  0  Peacock,  cry  againj 
was  always  a  fresh  pleasure.  She  knew  all  the  songs 
that  have  ever  been  sung,  from  the  war-songs  of  the 
South  that  make  the  old  men  angry  with  the  young 
men  and  the  young  men  angry  witli  the  State,  to  the 
love-songs  of  the  North  where  the  swords  whinny- 
whicker  like  angry  kites  in  the  pauses  between  the 
kisses,  and  the  Passes  fill  with  armed  men,  and  the 
Lover  is  torn  from  his  Beloved  and  cries,  Ai,  Ai,  Ai! 
evermore.  She  knew  how  to  make  up  tobacco  for  the 
huqa  so  that  it  smelt  like  the  Gates  of  Paradise  and 
wafted  you  gently  through  them.  She  could  embroider 
strange  things  in  gold  and  silver,  and  dance  softly  with 
the  moonlight  when  it  came  in  at  the  window.  Also 


304  ON  THE   CITY   WALL 

she  knew  the  hearts  of  men,  and  the  heart  of  the  City, 
and  whose  wives  were  faithful  and  whose  untrue,  and 
more  of  the  secrets  of  the  Government  Offices  than  are 
good  to  be  set  down  in  this  place.  Nasiban,  her  maid, 
said  that  her  jewelry  was  worth  ten  thousand  pounds, 
and  that,  some  night,  a  thief  would  enter  and  murder 
her  for  its  possession  ;  but  Lalun  said  that  all  the  City 
would  tear  that  thief  limb  from  limb,  and  that  he, 
whoever  he  was,  knew  it. 

So  she  took  her  sitar  and  sat  in  the  window-seat  and 
sang  a  song  of  old  days  that  had  been  sung  by  a  girl 
of  her  profession  in  an  armed  camp  on  the  eve  of  a 
great  battle  —  the  day  before  the  Fords  of  the  Jumna 
ran  red  and  Sivaji  fled  fifty  miles  to  Delhi  with  a 
Toorkh  stallion  at  his  horse's  tail  and  another  Lalun 
on  his  saddle-bow.  It  was  what  men  call  a  Mahratta 
laonee,  and  it  said  :  — 

Their  warrior  forces  Chimnajee 

Before  the  Peishwa  led, 
The  Children  of  the  Sun  and  Fire 

Behind  hirn  turned  and  fled. 

And  the  chorus  said  :  — 

With  them  there  fought  who  rides  *>  free 

With  sword  and  turban  red, 
The  warrior-youth  who  earns  his  fee 

At  peril  of  his  head. 

'  At  peril  of  his  head,  said  Wali  Dad  in  English  to 
me.  4  Thanks  to  your  Government,  all  our  heads  are 
protected,  and  with  the  educational  facilities  at  my 
command  '  —  his  eyes  twinkled  wickedly  —  '  I  might 
be  a  distinguished  member  of  the  local  administration. 
Perhaps,  in  time,  I  might  even  be  a  member  of  a  Legis- 
lative CounciL' 


ON  THE   CITY   WALL  305 

*  Don't  speak  English,'  said  Lalun,  bending  oyer  her 
sttar  afresh.  The  chorus  went  out  from  the  Citj  wall 
to  the  blackened  wall  of  Fort  Amara  which  dominates 
the  City.  No  man  knows  the  precise  extent  of  Fort 
Amara.  Three  kings  built  it  hundreds  of  years  ago, 
and  they  say  that  there  are  miles  of  underground  roomn 
beneath  its  walls.  It  is  peopled  with  many  ghosts,  a 
detachment  of  Garrison  Artillery  and  a  Company  of 
Infantry.  In  its  prime  it  held  ten  thousand  men  and 
filled  its  ditches  with  corpses. 

4  At  peril  of  his  head,'  sang  Lalun  again  and  again. 

A  head  moved  on  one  of  the  Ramparts  —  the  gray 
head  of  an  old  man  —  and  a  voice,  rough  as  shark-skin 
on  a  sword-hilt,  sent  back  the  last  line  of  the  chorus 
and  broke  into  a  song  that  I  could  not  understand, 
though  Lalun  and  Wali  Dad  listened  intently. 

4  What  is  it  ? '  I  asked.     4  Who  is  it  ? ' 

4  A  consistent  man,'  said  Wali  Dad.  4  He  fought  you 
in  '46,  when  he  was  a  warrior-youth ;  refought  you  in 
'57,  and  he  tried  to  fight  you  in  '71,  but  you  had  learned 
the  trick  of  blowing  men  from  guns  too  well.  Now  he 
is  old;  but  he  would  still  fight  if  he  could.' 

4  Is  he  a  Wahabi,  then  ?  Why  should  he  answer  to  a 
Mahratta  laonee  if  he  be  Wahabi  —  or  Sikh?'  said  I. 

4 1  do  not  know,'  said  Wali  Dad.  '  He  has  lost, 
perhaps,  his  religion.  Perhaps  he  wishes  to  be  a 
King.  Perhaps  he  is  a  King.  I  do  not  know  his 
name.' 

4  That  is  a  lie,  Wali  Dad.  If  you  know  his  career 
you  must  know  his  name, 

4  That  h  quite  true.  I  belong  to  a  nation  of  liars. 
I  would  rather  not  tell  you  his  name.  Think  for 
yourself.' 


306  ON  THE   CITY   WALL 

Lalun  finished  her  song,  pointed  to  the  Fort,  and 
said  simply  :  '  Khem  Singh.' 

'  Hm,'  said  Wali  Dad.  *  If  the  Pearl  chooses  to  tell 
you  the  Pearl  is  a  fool.' 

I  translated  to  Lalun,  who  laughed:  1 1  choose  to 
tell  what  I  choose  to  tell.  They  kept  Khem  Singh  in 
Burma, :  said  she.  '  They  kept  him  there  for  many 
years  until  his  mind  was  changed  in  him.  So  great 
was  the  kindness  of  the  Government.  Finding  this, 
they  sent  him  back  to  his  own  country  that  he  might 
look  upon  it  before  he  died.  He  is  an  old  man,  but 
when  he  looks  upon  this  his  country  his  memory  will 
come.  Moreover,  there  be  many  who  remember  him. 

'  He  is  an  Interesting  Survival,'  said  Wali  Dad,  pull- 
ing at  the  huqa.  'He  returns  to  a  country  now  full 
of  educational  and  political  reform,  but,  as  the  Pearl 
says,  there  are  many  who  remember  him.  He  was  once 
a  great  man.  There  will  never  be  any  more  great  men 
in  India.  They  will  all,  when  they  are  boys,  go  whor- 
ing after  strange  gods,  and  they  will  become  citizens  — 
"  fellow-citizens  " — "  illustrious  fellow-citizens.  What 
is  it  that  the  native  papers  call  them  ? 

Wali  Dad  seemed  to  be  in  a  very  bad  temper. 
Lalun  looked  out  of  the  window  and  smiled  into  the 
dust-haze.  I  went  away  thinking  about  Khem  Singh 
who  had  once  made  history  with  a  thousand  followers, 
and  would  have  been  a  princeling  but  for  the  power  of 
the  Supreme  Government  aforesaid. 

The  Senior  Captain  Commanding  Fort  Amara  was 
away  on  leave,  but  the  Subaltern,  his  Deputy,  had 
drifted  down  to  the  Club,  where  I  found  him  and 
enquired  of  him  whether  it  was  really  true  that  a  polit- 
ical prisoner  had  been  added  to  the  attractions  of  the 


ON  THE   CITY   WALL  307 

Fort.  The  Subaltern  explained  at  great  length,  for 
this  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  held  Command  of 
the  Fort,  and  his  glory  lay  heavy  upon  him. 

4  Yes,'  said  he,  '  a  man  was  sent  in  to  me  about  a 
week  ago  from  down  the  line  —  a  thorough  gentleman 
whoever  he  is.  Of  course  I  did  all  I  could  for  him. 
He  had  his  two  servants  and  some  silver  cooking-pots, 
and  he  looked  for  all  the  world  like  a  native  officer.  I 
called  him  Subadar  Sahib  ;  just  as  well  to  be  on  the 
safe  side,  y'know.  "Look  here,  Subadar  Sahib,"  I  said, 
"you're  handed  over  to  my  authority,  and  I'm  sup- 
posed to  guard  you.  Now  I  don't  want  to  make  your 
life  hard,  but  you  must  make  things  easy  for  me.  All 
the  Fort  is  at  your  disposal,  from  the  flagstaff  to  the 
dry  ditch,  and  I  shall  be  happy  to  entertain  you  in  any 
way  I  can,  but  you  mustn't  take  advantage  of  it.  Give 
me  your  word  that  you  won't  try  to  escape,  Subadar 
Sahib,  arid  I'll  give  you  my  word  that  you  shall  have 
no  heavy  guard  put  over  you.''  I  thought  the  best 
way  of  getting  at  him  was  by  going  at  him  straight, 
y'know  ,  and  it  was,  by  Jove  !  The  old  man  gave  me 
his  word,  and  moved  about  the  Fort  as  contented  as  a 
sick  crow.  He's  a  rummy  chap  —  always  asking  to  be 
told  where  he  is  and  what  the  buildings  about  him  are. 
I  had  to  sign  a  slip  of  blue  paper  when  he  turned  up, 
acknowledging  receipt  of  his  body  and  all  that,  and  I'm 
responsible,  y'know,  that  he  doesn't  get  away.  Queer 
thing,  though,  looking  after  a  Johnnie  old  enough  to 
be  your  grandfather,  isn't  it  ?  Come  to  the  Fort  one 
of  these  days  and  see  him  ? 

For  reasons  which  will  appear,  I  never  went  to  the 
Fort  while  Klicm  Singh  was  then  within  its  walls.  I 
knew  him  only  as  a  gray  head  seen  from  Lalun's 


308  ON  THE  CITY  WALL 

dow  —  a  gray  head  and  a  harsh  voice.  But  natives 
told  me  that,  day  by  day,  as  he  looked  upon  the  fair 
lands  round  Amara,  his  memory  came  back  to  him  and, 
with  it,  the  old  hatred  against  the  Government  that 
had  been  nearly  effaced  in  far-off  Burma.  So  he  raged 
up  and  down  the  West  face  of  the  Fort  from  morning 
till  noon  and  from  evening  till  the  night,  devising 
vain  things  in  his  heart,  and  croaking  war-songs  when 
Lalun  sang  on  the  City  wall.  As  he  grew  more 
acquainted  with  the  Subaltern  he  unburdened  his  old 
heart  of  some  of  the  passions  that  had  withered  it. 
'  Sahib,'  he  used  to  say,  tapping  his  stick  against  the 
parapet, '  when  I  was  a  young  man  I  was  one  of  twenty 
thousand  horsemen  who  came  out  of  the  City  and  rode 
round  the  plain  here.  Sahib,  I  was  the  leader  of  a  hun- 
dred, then  cf  a  thousand,  then  of  five  thousand,  and 
now  I '  —  he  pointed  to  his  two  servants.  '  But  from 
the  beginning  to  to-day  I  would  cut  the  throats  of  all  the 
Sahibs  in  the  land  if  I  could.  Hold  me  fast,  Sahib, 
lest  I  get  away  and  return  to  those  who  would  follow 
me.  I  forgot  them  when  I  was  in  Burma,  but  now 
that  I  am  in  my  own  country  again,  I  remember  every- 
thing.' 

'  Do  you  remember  that  you  have  given  me  your 
Honour  not  to  make  your  tendance  a  hard  matter  ? ' 
said  the  Subaltern. 

*  Yes,  to  you,  only  to  you,  Sahib,'  said  Khem  Singh. 
4  To  you  because  you  are  of  a  pleasant  countenance.  If 
my  turn  comes  again,  Sahib,  I  will  not  hang  you  nor 
cut  your  throat.' 

4  Thank  you,'  said  the  Subaltern  gravely,  as  he  looked 
along  the  line  of  guns  that  could  pound  the  City  to 
powder  in  half  an  hour.  '  Let  us  go  into  our  own 


ON  THE   CITY   WALL  309 

quarters,  Khem  Singh.  Come  and  talk  with  me  after 
dinner.' 

Khem  Singh  would  sit  on  his  own  cushion  at  the 
Subaltern's  feet,  drinking  heavy,  scented  anise-seed 
brandy  in  great  gulps,  and  telling  strange  stories  of 
Fort  Amara,  which  had  been  a  palace  in  the  old  days, 
of  Begums  and  Ranees  tortured  to  death  —  aye,  in  the 
very  vaulted  chamber  that  now  served  as  a  Mess-room  ; 
would  tell  stories  of  Sobraon  that  made  the  Subaltern's 
cheeks  flush  and  tingle  with  pride  of  race,  and  of  the 
Kuka  rising  from  which  so  much  was  expected  and  the 
foreknowledge  of  which  was  shared  by  a  hundred  thou- 
sand souls.  But  he  never  told  tales  of  '57  because,  as 
he  said,  he  was  the  Subaltern's  guest,  and  '57  is  a  year 
that  no  man,  Black  or  White,  cares  to  speak  of.  Once 
only,  when  the  anise-seed  brandy  had  slightly  affected 
his  head,  he  said :  '  Sahib,  speaking  now  of  a  matter 
which  lay  between  Sobraon  and  the  affair  of  the  Kukas, 
it  was  ever  a  wonder  to  us  that  you  stayed  your  hand  at 
all,  and  that,  having  stayed  it,  you  did  not  make  the 
land  one  prison.  Now  I  hear  from  without  that  you  do 
great  honour  to  all  men  of  our  country  and  by  your  own 
hands  are  destroying  the  Terror  of  your  Name  which  is 
your  strong  rock  and  defence.  This  is  a  foolish  thing. 
Will  oil  and  water  mix  ?  Now  in  '57 ' 

'  I  was  not  born  then,  Subadar  Sahib,'  said  the  Subal- 
tern, and  Khem  Singh  reeled  to  his  quarters. 

The  Subaltern  would  tell  me  of  these  conversations 
at  the  Club,  and  my  desire  to  see  Khem  Singh  increased. 
But  Wall  Dad,  sitting  in  the  window-seat  of  the  house 
on  the  City  wall,  said  that  it  would  be  a  cruel  thing  to 
do,  and  Lalun  pretended  that  I  preferred  the  society  of 
a  grizzled  old  Sikh  to  hers. 


310  ON  THE   CITY  WALL 

'  Here  is  tobacco,  here  is  talk,  here  are  many  friends 
and  all  the  news  of  the  City,  and,  above  all,  here  is  my- 
self. I  will  tell  you  stories  and  sing  you  songs,  and 
Wali  Dad  will  talk  his  English  nonsense  in  your  ears. 
Is  that  worse  than  watching  the  caged  animal  yonder? 
Go  to-morrow  then,  if  you  must,  but  to-day  such  and 
such  an  one  will  be  here,  and  he  will  speak  of  wonderful 
things.' 

It  happened  that  To-morrow  never  came,  and  the 
warm  heat  of  the  latter  Rains  gave  place  to  the  chill  of 
early  October  almost  before  I  was  aware  of  the  flight  of 
the  year.  The  Captain  commanding  the  Fort  returned 
from  leave  and  took  over  charge  of  Khem  Singh  accord- 
ing to  the  laws  of  seniority.  The  Captain  was  not  a 
nice  man.  He  called  all  natives  '  niggers,'  which,  besides 
being  extreme  bad  form,  shows  gross  ignorance. 

'  What's  the  use  of  telling  off  two  Tommies  to  watch 
that  old  nigger  ? '  said  he. 

'  I  fancy  it  soothes  his  vanity,'  said  the  Subaltern. 
4  The  men  are  ordered  to  keep  well  out  of  his  way,  but 
he  takes  them  as  a  tribute  to  his  importance,  poor  old 
•wretch.' 

'  I  won't  have  Line  men  taken  off  regular  guards  in 
this  way.  Put  on  a  couple  of  Native  Infantry.' 

'  Sikhs  ? '  said  the  Subaltern,  lifting  his  eyebrows. 

'Sikhs,  Pathans,  Dogras — they're  all  alike,  these 
black  vermin,'  and  the  Captain  .talked  to  Khem  Singh 
in  a  manner  which  hurt  that  old  gentleman's  feelings. 
Fifteen  years  before,  when  he  had  been  caught  for  the 
second  time,  every  one  looked  upon  him  as  a  sort  of 
tiger.  He  liked  being  regarded  in  this  light.  But  he 
forgot  that  the  world  goes  forward  in  fifteen  years,  and 
many  Subalterns  are  promoted  to  Captaincies. 


ON  THE  CITY  WALL  311 

•The  Captain-pig  is  in  charge  of  the  Fort?'  said 
Khem  Singh  to  his  native  guard  every  morning.  And 
the  native  guard  said;  'Yes,  Subadar  Sahib,'  in  defer- 
ence to  his  age  and  his  air  of  distinction ;  but  they  did 
not  know  who  he  was. 

In  those  days  the  gathering  in  Lalun's  little 
white  room  was  always  large  and  talked  more  than 
before. 

'  The  Greeks,'  said  Wali  Dad  who  had  been  borrow- 
ing my  books,  '  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  of  Athens, 
where  they  were  always  hearing  and  telling  some  new 
thing,  rigorously  secluded  their  women — who  were 
fools.  Hence  the  glorious  institution  of  the  heterodox 
women  —  is  it  not  ?  —  who  were  amusing  and  not  fools. 
All  the  Greek  philosophers  delighted  in  their  company. 
Tell  me,  my  friend,  how  it  goes  now  in  Greece  and  the 
other  places  upon  the  Continent  of  Europe.  Are  your 
women-folk  also  fools  ? ' 

'Wali  Dad,'  I  said,  'you  never  speak  to  us  about 
your  women-folk  and  we  never  speak  about  ours  to  you. 
That  is  the  bar  between  us.' 

'  Yes,  said  Wali  Dad,  '  it  is  curious  to  think  that  our 
common  meeting-place  should  be  here,  in  the  house  of  a 
common  —  how  do  you  call  her  ? '  He  pointed  with  the 
pipe- mouth  to  Lalun. 

'  Lalun  is  nothing  but  Lalun,'  I  said,  and  that  was 
perfectly  true.  '  But  if  you  took  your  place  in  the 
world,  Wali  Dad,  and  gave  up  dreaming  dreams ' 

'  I  might  wear  an  English  coat  and  trouser.  I  might 
be  a  leading  Muhammadan  pleader.  I  might  be  received 
even  at  the  Commissioner's  tennis-parties  where  the  Eng- 
lish stand  on  one  side  and  the  natives  on  the  other,  in 
order  to  promote  social  intercourse  throughout  the  Em- 


312  ON  THE   CITY   WALL 

pire.     Heart's  Heart,'  said  he  to  Lalun   quickly,  4the 
Sahib  says  that  I  ought  to  quit  you.' 

4  The  Sahib  is  always  talking  stupid  talk,'  returned 
Lalun  with  a  laugh.  4  In  this  house  I  am  a  Queen  and 
thou  art  a  King.  The  Sahib '  —  she  put  her  arms  above 
her  head  and  thought  for  a  moment  — 4  the  Sahib  shall 
be  our  Vizier  —  thine  and  mine,  Wall  Dad  —  because 
he  has  said  that  thou  shouldst  leave  me. 

Wali  Dad  laughed  immoderately,  and  I  laughed  too. 
4  Be  it  so,'  said  he.  4  My  friend,  are  you  willing  to  take 
this  lucrative  Government  appointment?  Lalun,  what 
shall  his  pay  be  ? ' 

But  Lalun  began  to  sing,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  time 
there  was  no  hope  of  getting  a  sensible  answer  from  her 
or  Wali  Dad.  When  the  one  stopped,  the  other  began, 
to  quote  Persian  poetry  with  a  triple  pun  in  every  other 
line.  Some  of  it  was  not  strictly  proper,  but  it  was  all 
very  funny,  and  it  only  came  to  an  end  when  a  fat  per 
son  in  black,  with  gold  pince-nez,  sent  up  his  name  to 
Lalun,  and  Wali  Dad  dragged  me  into  the  twinkling 
night  to  walk  in  a  big  rose-garden  and  talk  heresies 
about  Religion  and  Governments  and  a  man's  career  in 
life. 

The  Mohurrum,  the  great  mourning-festival  of  the 
Muhammadans,  was  close  at  hand,  and  the  things  that 
Wali  Dad  said  about  religious  fanaticism  would  have 
secured  his  expulsion  from  the  loosest-thinking  Muslim 
sect.  There  were  the  rose-bushes  round  us,  the  stare 
above  us,  and  from  every  quarter  of  the  City  came  the 
boom  of  the  big  Mohurrum  drums.  You  must  know 
that  the  City  is  divided  in  fairly  equal  proportions 
between  the  Hindus  and  the  Musalmans,  and  where 
both  creeds  belong  to  the  righting  races,  a  big  religious 


ON  THE   CITY   WALL  313 

festival  gives  ample  chance  for  trouble.  When  they 
can  —  that  is  to  say  when  the  authorities  are  weak 
enough  to  allow  it — the  Hindus  do  their  best  to  arrange 
some  minor  feast-day  of  their  own  in  time  to  clash  with 
the  period  of  general  mourning  for  the  martyrs  Hasan 
and  Hussain,  the  heroes  of  the  Mohurrum.  Gilt  and 
painted  paper  presentations  of  their  tombs  are  borne 
with  shouting  and  wailing,  music,  torches,  and  yells, 
through  the  principal  thoroughfares  of  the  City ,  which 
fakements  are  called  tazias.  Their  passage  is  rigorously 
laid  down  beforehand  by  the  Police,  and  detachments 
of  Police  accompany  each  tazia,  lest  the  Hindus  should 
throw  bricks  at  it  and  the  peace  of  the  Queen  and  the 
heads  of  Her  loyal  subjects  should  thereby  be  broken. 
Mohurrum  time  in  a  '  fighting '  town  means  anxiety  to 
all  the  officials,  because,  if  a  riot  breaks  out,  the  officials 
and  not  the  rioters  are  held  responsible.  The  former 
must  foresee  everything,  and  while  not  making  their 
precautions  ridiculously  elaborate,  must  see  that  they 
are  at  least  adequate. 

*  Listen  to  the  drums  ! '  said  Wali  Dad.  '  That  is  the 
heart  of  the  people  —  empty  and  making  much  noise. 
How,  think  you,  will  the  Mohurrum  go  this  year?  / 
think  that  there  will  be  trouble.' 

He  turned  down  a  side-street  and  left  me  alone  with 
the  stars  and  a  sleepy  Police  patrol.  Then  I  went  to 
bed  and  dreamed  that  Wall  Dad  had  sacked  the  City 
and  I  was  made  Vizier,  with  Laluu's  silver  huqa  for 
mark  of  office. 

All  day  the  Mohurrum  drums  beat  in  the  City,  and 
all  day  deputations  of  tearful  Hindu  gentlemen  boyieged 
the  Deputy  Commissioner  with  assurances  that  they 
would  be  murdered  ere  next  dawnu  •«•  by  the  Muhamina 


314  ON  THE   CITY   WALL 

dans.  '  Which,'  said  the  Deputy  Commissioner,  in  con- 
fidence to  the  Head  of  Police,  '  is  a  pretty  fair  indication 
that  the  Hindus  are  going  to  make  'emselves  unpleas- 
ant. I  think  we  can  arrange  a  little  surprise  for  them. 
I  have  given  the  heads  of  both  Creeds  fair  warning.  If 
they  choose  to  disregard  it,  so  much  the  worse  for 
them.' 

There  was  a  large  gathering  in  Lalun's  house  that 
night,  but  of  men  that  I  had  never  seen  before,  if  I 
except  the  fat  gentleman  in  black  with  the  gold  pince- 
nez.  Wali  Dad  lay  in  the  window-seat,  more  bitterly 
scornful  of  his  Faith  and  its  manifestations  than  I  had 
ever  known  him.  Lalun's  maid  was  very  busy  cutting 
up  and  mixing  tobacco  for  the  guests.  We  could  hear 
the  thunder  of  the  drums  as  the  processions  accompany 
ing  each  tazia  marched  to  the  central  gathering-place  in 
the  plain  outside  the  City,  preparatory  to  their  trium- 
phant re-entry  and  circuit  within  the  walls.  All  thb 
streets  seemed  ablaze  with  torches,  and  only  Fort  Amara 
was  black  and  silent. 

When  the  noise  of  the  drums  ceased,  no  one  in  the 
white  room  spoke  for  a  time.  '  The  first  tazia  has 
moved  off,'  said  Wali  Dad,  looking  to  the  plain. 

'  That  is  very  early,'  said  the  man  with  the  pince-nez. 

'  It  is  only  half-past  eight.'  The  company  rose  and 
departed. 

'  Some  of  them  were  men  from  Ladakh,'  said  Lalun, 
when  the  last  had  gone.  *  They  brought  me  brick-tea 
such  as  the  Russians  sell,  and  a  tea-urn  from  Pesha- 
wur.  Show  me,  now,  how  the  English  Memsahibs 
make  tea.* 

The  brick-tea  was  poominable.  When  it  was  finished 
Wali  Dad  suggested  going  into  the  streets-  "I  am 


ON  THE  CITY  WALL  315 

nearly  sure  that  there  will  be  trouble  to-night,'  he  said. 
4  All  the  City  thinks  so,  and  Vox  Populi  is  Vox  Dei,  as 
the  Babus  say.  Now  I  tell  you  that  at  the  corner  of 
the  Padshahi  Gate  you  will  find  my  horse  all  this  night 
if  you  want  to  go  about  and  to  see  things.  It  is  a  most 
disgraceful  exhibition.  Where  is  the  pleasure  of  saying 
" Ya  Hasan,  Ya  Hussain"  twenty  thousand  times  in  a 
night  ? ' 

All  the  processions  —  there  were  two  and  twenty  of 
them  —  were  now  well  within  the  City  walls.  The 
drums  were  beating  afresh,  the  crowd  were  howling 
'-Ya  Hasan !  Ya  Hussain!'  and  beating  their  breasts, 
the  brass  bands  were  playing  their  loudest,  and  at  every 
corner  where  space  allowed,  Muhammadan  preachers 
were  telling  the  lamentable  story  of  the  death  of  the 
Martyrs.  It  was  impossible  to  move  except  with  the 
crowd,  tor  the  streets  were  not  more  than  twenty  feet 
wide.  In  the  Hindu  quarters  the  shutters  of  all  the 
shops  were  up  and  cross-barred.  As  the  first  tazia,  a 
gorgeous  erection  ten  feet  high,  was  borne  aloft  on  the 
shoulders  of  a  score  of  stout  men  into  the  semi-dark- 
ness of  the  Gully  of  the  Horsemen,  a  brickbat  crashed 
through  its  talc  and  tinsel  sides. 

4  Into  thy  hands,  O  Lord?'  murmured  Wall  Dad  pro- 
fanely, as  a  yell  went  up  from  behind,  and  a  native 
officer  of  Police  jammed  his  horse  through  the  crowd. 
Another  brickbat  followed,  and  the  tazia  staggered  and 
swayed  where  it  had  stopped. 

'  Go  on  \  In  the  name  of  the  Sirkar,  go  forward ! ' 
shouted  the  Policeman  ;  but  there  was  an  ugly  cracking 
and  splintering  of  shutters,  and  the  crowd  halted,  with 
oaths  and  growlings,  before  the  house  whence  the  brick- 
bat had  been  thrown. 


316  ON  THE  CITY  WALL 

Then,  without  any  warning,  broke  the  storm  —  not 
only  in  the  Gully  of  the  Horsemen,  but  in  half  a  dozen 
other  places.  The  tazias  rocked  like  ships  at  sea,  the 
long  pole-torches  dipped  and  rose  round  them  while  the 
men  shouted  :  '  The  Hindus  are  dishonouring  the  tazias! 
Strike  !  Strike !  Into  their  temples  for  the  faith  I  * 
The  six  or  eight  Policemen  with  each  tazia  drew  their 
batons,  and  struck  as  long  as  they  could  in  the  hope  of 
forcing  the  mob  forward,  but  they  were  overpowered, 
and  as  contingents  of  Hindus  poured  into  the  streets, 
the  fight  became  general.  Half  a  mile  away  where  the 
tazias  were  yet  untouched  the  drums  and  the  shrieks  of 
4  Ya  Hasan  !  Ya  Hussain  ! '  continued,  but  not  for  long. 
The  priests  at  the  corners  of  the  streets  knocked  the 
legs  from  the  bedsteads  that  supported  their  pulpits  and 
smote  for  the  Faith,  while  stones  fell  from  the  silent 
houses  upon  friend  and  foe,  and  the  packed  streets 
bellowed:  '•Din!  Din!  Din!'  A  tazia  caught  fire,  and 
was  dropped  for  a  flaming  barrier  between  Hindu  and 
Musalman  at  the  corner  of  the  Gully.  Then  the  crowd 
surged  forward,  and  Wali  Dad  drew  me  close  to  the 
stone  pillar  of  a  well. 

'  It  was  intended  from  the  beginning ! '  he  shouted  in 
my  ear,  with  more  heat  than  blank  unbelief  should  be 
guilty  of.  'The  bricks  were  carried  up  to  the  houses 
beforehand.  These  swine  of  Hindus !  We  shall  be 
gutting  kine  in  their  temples  to-night ! ' 

Tazia  after  tazia,  some  burning,  others  torn  to  pieces, 
hurried  past  us  and  the  mob  with  them,  howling,  shriek- 
ing, and  striking  at  the  house  doors  in  their  flight.  At 
last  we  saw  the  reason  of  the  rush.  Hugonin,  the 
Assistant  District  Superintendent  of  Police,  a  boy  of 
twenty,  had  got  together  thirty  constables  and  was 


ON  THE  CITY  WALL  317 

forcing  the  crowd  through  the  streets.  His  old  gray 
Police-horse  showed  no  sign  of  uneasiness  as  it  was 
spurred  breast-on  into  the  crowd,  and  the  long  dog-whip 
with  which  he  had  armed  himself  was  never  still. 

4  They  know  we  haven't  enough  Police  to  hold  'em,* 
he  cried  as  he  passed  me,  mopping  a  cut  on  his  face. 
'  They  know  we  haven't  I  Aren't  any  of  the  men  from 
the  Club  coming  down  to  help?  Get  on,  you  sons 
of  burnt  fathers ! '  The  dog-whip  cracked  across  the 
writhing  backs,  and  the  constables  smote  afresh  with 
baton  and  gun-butt.  With  these  passed  the  lights  and 
the  shouting,  and  Wali  Dad  began  to  swear  under  his 
breath.  From  Fort  Amara  shot  up  a  single  rocket; 
then  two  side  by  side.  It  was  the  signal  for  troops. 

Petitt,  the  Deputy  Commissioner,  covered  with  dust 
and  sweat,  but  calm  and  gently  smiling,  cantered  up 
the  clean-swept  street  in  rear  of  the  main  body  of 
the  rioters.  4No  one  killed  yet,'  he  shouted.  'I'll 
keep  'em  on  the  run  till  dawn !  Don't  let  'em  halt, 
Hugonin !  Trot  'em  about  till  the  troops  come.' 

The  science  of  the  defence  lay  solely  in  keeping  the 
mob  on  the  move.  If  they  had  breathing-space  they 
would  halt  and  fire  a  house,  and  then  the  work  of 
restoring-  order  would  be  more  difficult,  to  say  the  least 
of  it.  Flames  have  the  same  effect  on  a  crowd  as  blood 
has  on  a  wild  beast. 

Word  had  reached  the  Club  and  men  in  evening- 
dress  were  beginning  to  show  themselves  and  lend  a 
hand  in  heading  off  and  breaking  up  the  shouting 
masses  with  stirrup-leathers,  whips,  or  chance-found 
staves.  They  were  not  very  often  attacked,  for  the 
rioters  had  sense  enough  to  know  that  the  death  of  a 
European  would  not  mean  one  hanging  but  many,  and 


318  ON  THE  CITY  WALL 

possibly  the  appearance  of  the  thrice-dreaded  Artillery. 
The  clamour  in  the  City  redoubled.  The  Hindus  had 
descended  into  the  streets  in  real  earnest  and  ere  long 
the  mob  returned.  It  was  a  strange  sight.  There  were 
no  taziaa  —  only  their  riven  platforms  —  and  there  were 
no  Police.  Here  and  there  a  City  dignitary,  Hindu  or 
Muhammadan,  was  vainly  imploring  his  co-religionists 
to  keep  quiet  and  behave  themselves  —  advice  for  which 
his  white  beard  was  pulled.  Then  a  native  officer  of 
Police,  unhorsed  but  still  using  his  spurs  with  effect, 
would  be  borne  along,  warning  all  the  crowd  of  the 
danger  of  insulting  the  Government.  Everywhere  men 
struck  aimlessly  with  sticks,  grasping  each  other  by 
the  throat,  howling  and  foaming  with  rage,  or  beat  with 
their  bare  hands  on  the  doors  of  the  houses. 

'It  is  a  lucky  thing  that  they  are  fighting  with 
natural  weapons,'  I  said  to  Wali  Dad,  '  else  we  should 
have  half  the  City  killed.' 

I  turned  as  I  spoke  and  looked  at  his  face.  His  nos- 
trils were  distended,  his  eyes  were  fixed,  and  he  was 
smiting  himself  softly  on  the  breast.  The  crowd  poured 
by  with  renewed  riot  —  a  gang  of  Musalmans  hard- 
pressed  by  some  hundred  Hindu  fanatics.  Wali  Dad 
left  my  side  with  an  oath,  and  shouting :  '  Ya  Hasan ! 
Ya  Hussain  ! '  plunged  into  the  thick  of  the  fight  where 
I  lost  sight  of  him. 

I  fled  by  a  side  alley  to  the  Padshahi  Gate  where  I 
found  Wali  Dad's  house,  and  thence  rode  to  the  Fort. 
Once  outside  the  City  wall,  the  tumult  sank  to  a  dull 
roar,  very  impressive  under  the  stars  and  reflecting  great 
credit  on  the  fifty  thousand  angry  able-bodied  men  who 
were  making  it.  The  troops  who,  at  the  Deputy  Com- 
missioner's instance,  had  been  ordered  to  rendezvous 


ON  THE  CITY  WALL  319 

quietly  near  the  Fort,  showed  no  signs  of  being  im- 
pressed. Two  companies  of  Native  Infantry,  a  squad- 
ron of  Native  Cavalry  and  a  company  of  British  Infantry 
were  kicking  their  heels  in  the  shadow  of  the  East  face, 
waiting  for  orders  to  march  in.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that 
they  were  all  pleased,  unholily  pleased,  at  the  chance 
of  what  they  called  *  a  little  fun.'  The  senior  officers, 
to  be  sure,  grumbled  at  having  been  kept  out  of  bed, 
and  the  English  troops  pretended  to  be  sulky,  but 
there  was  joy  in  the  hearts  of  all  the  subalterns,  and 
whispers  ran  up  and  down  the  line  :  '  No  ball-cartridge 
—  what  a  beastly  shame  I '  '  D'y ou  think  the  beggars 
will  really  stand  up  to  us?'  ''Hope  I  shall  meet 
my  money-lender  there.  I  owe  him  more  than  I  can 
afford.'  '  Oh,  they  won't  let  us  even  unsheathe  swords.' 
4  Hurrah  !  Up  goes  the  fourth  rocket.  Fall  in,  there ! ' 
The  Garrison  Artillery,  who  to  the  last  cherished  a 
wild  hope  that  they  might  be  allowed  to  bombard  the 
City  at  a  hundred  yards'  range,  lined  the  parapet  above 
the  East  gateway  and  cheered  themselves  hoarse  as  the 
British  Infantry  doubled  along  the  road  to  the  Main 
Gate  of  the  City.  The  Cavalry  cantjred  on  to  the 
Padshahi  Gate,  and  the  Native  Infantry  marched  slowly 
to  the  Gate  of  the  Butchers.  The  surprise  was  in- 
tended to  be  of  a  distinctly  unpleasant  nature,  and  to 
come  on  top  of  the  defeat  of  the  Police  who  had  been 
just  able  to  keep  the  Muhammadans  from  firing  the 
houses  of  a  few  leading  Hindus.  The  bulk  of  the  riot 
lay  in  the  north  and  north-west  wards.  The  east  and 
south-east  were  by  this  time  dark  and  silent,  and  I  rode 
hastily  to  Lalun's  house  for  I  wished  to  tell  her  to  send 
some  one  in  search  of  Wall  Dad.  The  house  was 
unlighted,  but  the  door  was  open,  and  I  climbed  up- 


320  ON  THE   CITY  WALL 

stairs  in  the  darkness.  One  small  lamp  in  the  white 
room  showed  Lalun  and  her  maid  leaning  half  out  of 
the  window,  breathing  heavily  and  evidently  pulling  at 
something  that  refused  to  come. 

'Thou  art  late  —  very  late,'  gasped  Lalun  without 
turning  her  head.  '  Help  us  now,  O  Fool,  if  thou  hast 
not  spent  thy  strength  howling  among  the  tazias. 
Pull !  Nasiban  and  I  can  do  no  more !  O  Sahib,  is 
it  you  ?  The  Hindus  have  been  hunting  an  old  Muham- 
madan  round  the  Ditch  with  clubs.  If  they  find  him 
again  they  will  kill  him.  Help  us  to  pull  him  up.' 

I  put  my  hands  to  the  long  red  silk  waist-cloth  that 
was  hanging  out  of  the  window,  and  we  three  pulled 
and  pulled  with  all  the  strength  at  our  command. 
There  was  something  very  heavy  at  the  end,  and  it 
swore  in  an  unknown  tongue  as  it  kicked  against  the 
City  wall. 

'  Pull,  oh,  pull ! '  said  Lalun  at  the  last.  A  pair  of 
brown  hands  grasped  the  window-sill  and  a  venerable 
Muhammadan  tumbled  upon  the  floor,  very  much  out 
of  breath.  His  jaws  were  tied  up,  his  turban  had  fallen 
over  one  eye,  and  he  was  dusty  and  angry. 

Lalun  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  for  an  instant  and 
said  something  about  Wali  Dad  that  I  could  not  catch. 

Then,  to  my  extreme  gratification,  she  threw  her  arms 
round  my  neck  and  murmured  pretty  things.  I  was  in 
no  haste  to  stop  her ;  and  Nasiban,  being  a  handmaiden 
of  tact,  turned  to  the  big  jewel-chest  that  stands  in  the 
corner  of  the  white  room  and  rummaged  among  the  con- 
tents. The  Muhammadan  sat  on  the  floor  and  glared. 

4  One  service  more,  Sahib,  since  thou  hast  come  so 
opportunely,'  said  Lalun.  '  Wilt  thou  '  —  it  is  very  nice 
to  be  thou-ed  by  Lalun  — '  take  this  old  man  across  the 


ON   THE   CITY   WALL,  321 

City  —  the  troops  are  everywhere,  and  they  might  hurt 
him  for  he  is  old  —  to  the  Kumharsen  Gate  ?  There  I 
think  he  may  find  a  carriage  to  take  him  to  his  house. 
He  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  thou  art  —  more  than  a 
friend  —  therefore  I  ask  this.' 

Nasiban  bent  over  the  old  man,  tucked  something 
into  his  belt,  and  I  raised  him  up,  and  led  him  into  the 
streets.  In  crossing  from  the  east  to  the  west  of  the 
City  there  was  no  chance  of  avoiding  the  troops  and 
the  crowd.  Long  before  I  reached  the  Gully  of  the 
Horsemen  I  heard  the  shouts  of  the  British  Infan- 
try crying  cheeringly :  '  Hutt,  ye  beggars !  Hutt,  ye 
devils !  Get  along !  Go  forward,  there ! '  Then  fol- 
lowed the  ringing  of  rifle-butts  and  shrieks  of  pain. 
The  troops  were  banging  the  bare  toes  of  the  mob  with 
their  gun-butts  —  for  not  a  bayonet  had  been  fixed. 
My  companion  mumbled  and  jabbered  as  we  walked  on 
until  we  were  carried  back  by  the  crowd  and  had  to 
force  our  way  to  the  troops.  I  caught  him  by  the  wrist 
and  felt  a  bangle  there  —  the  iron  bangle  of  the  Sikhs 
—  but  I  had  no  suspicions,  for  Lalun  had  only  ten 
minutes  before  put  her  arms  round  me  Thrice  we 
were  carried  back  by  the  crowd,  and  when  we  made 
Dur  way  past  the  British  Infantry  it  was  to  meet  the 
Sikh  Cavalry  driving  another  mob  before  them  with 
the  butts  of  their  lances. 

'  What  are  these  dogs  ? '  said  the  old  man. 

'  Sikhs  of  the  Cavalry,  Father,'  I  said,  and  we  edged 
our  way  up  the  line  of  horses  two  abreast  and  found 
the  Deputy  Commissioner,  his  helmet  smashed  on  his 
head,  surrounded  by  a  knct  of  men  who  had  come  down 
from  the  Club  as  amateur  constables  and  had  helped 
the  police  mightily. 


322  ON  THE  CiTY  WALL 

'"We'll  keep  'em  on  the  run  till  dawn,'  said  Petitt 
'  Who's  your  villainous  friend  ? ' 

I  had  only  time  to  say:  'The  Protection  of  the 
Sirlcar ! '  when  a  fresh  crowd  flying  before  the  Native 
Infantry  carried  us  a  hundred  yards  nearer  to  the 
Kumharsen  Gate,  and  Petitt  was  swept  away  like  a 
shadow. 

'  I  do  not  know  —  I  cannot  see  —  this  is  all  new  to 
me ! '  moaned  my  companion.  '  How  many  troops  are 
there  in  the  City  ? ' 

4  Perhaps  five  hundred,'  I  said. 

'  A  lakh  of  men  beaten  by  five  hundred  —  and  Sikhs 
among  them !  Surely,  surely,  I  am  an  old  man,  but  — 
the  Kumharsen  Gate  is  new.  Who  pulled  down  the 
stone  lions?  Where  is  the  conduit?  Sahib,  I  am  a 
very  old  man,  and,  alas,  I  —  I  cannot  stand.'  He 
dropped  in  the  shadow  of  the  Kumharsen  Gate  where 
there  was  no  disturbance.  A  fat  gentleman  wearing 
gold  pince-nez  came  out  of  the  darkness. 

'  You  are  most  kind  to  bring  my  old  friend,'  he  said 
suavely.  'He  is  a  landholder  of  Akala.  He  should 
not  be  in  a  big  City  when  there  is  religious  excitement. 
But  I  have  a  carriage  here.  You  are  quite  truly  kind. 
Will  you  Inlp  me  to  put  him  into  the  carriage  ?  It  is 
very  late.' 

We  bundled  the  old  man  into  a  hired  victoria  that 
stood  close  to  the  gate,  and  I  turned  back  to  the  house 
on  the  City  wall.  The  troops  were  driving  the  people 
to  and  fro,  while  the  Police  shouted,  '  To  your  houses ! 
Get  to  your  houses ! '  and  the  dog-whip  of  the  Assistant 
District  Superintendent  cracked  remorselessly.  Terror- 
stricken  bunnias  clung  to  the  stirrups  of  the  cavalry, 
crying  that  their  houses  had  been  robbed  (which  was  a 


ON  THE  CITY  WALL  323 

lie),  and  the  burly  Sikh  horsemen  patted  them  on  the 
shoulder,  and  bade  them  return  to  those  houses  lest  a 
worse  thing  should  happen.  Parties  of  five  or  six 
British  soldiers,  joining  arms,  swept  down  the  side- 
gullies,  their  rifles  on  their  backs,  stamping,  with  shout- 
ing and  song,  upon  the  toes  of  Hindu  and  Musalman. 
Never  was  religious  enthusiasm  more  systematically 
squashed;  and  never  were  poor  breakers  of  the  peace 
more  utterly  weary  and  footsore.  They  were  routed 
out  of  holes  and  corners,  from  behind  well-pillars  and 
byres,  and  bidden  to  go  to  their  houses.  If  they  had 
no  houses  to  go  to,  so  much  the  worse  for  their  toes. 

On  returning  to  Lalun's  door  I  stumbled  over  a  man 
at  the  threshold.  He  was  sobbing  hysterically  and  his 
arms  flapped  like  the  wings  of  a  goose.  It  was  Wali 
Dad,  Agnostic  and  Unbeliever,  shoeless,  turbanless,  and 
frothing  at  the  mouth,  the  flesh  on  his  chest  bruised 
and  bleeding  from  the  vehemence  with  which  he  had 
smitten  himself.  A  broken  torch-handle  lay  by  his  side, 
and  his  quivering  lips  murmured,  ^Ya  Hasan!  Ya 
Hussain  / '  as  I  stooped  over  him.  I  pushed  him  a  few 
steps  up  the  staircase,  threw  a  pebble  at  Lalun's  City 
window  and  hurried  home. 

Most  of  the  streets  were  very  still,  and  the  cold  wind 
that  comes  before  the  dawn  whistled  down  them.  In 
the  centre  of  the  Square  of  the  Mosque  a  man  was 
bending  over  a  corpse.  The  skull  had  been  smashed  in 
by  gun-butt  or  bamboo-stave. 

'  It  is  expedient  that  one  man  should  die  for  the 
people,'  said  Petitt  grimly,  raising  the  shapeless  head. 
'  These  brutes  were  beginning  to  show  their  teeth  too 
much.' 

And  from  afar  we  could  hear  the  soldiers   singing 


324  ON  THE   CITY   WALL 

'Two  Lovely  Black  Eyes,'  as  they  drove  the  remnant 
of  the  rioters  within  doors. 

********* 

Of  course  you  can  guess  what  happened  ?  I  was  not 
so  clever.  When  the  news  went  abroad  that  Khem 
Singh  had  escaped  from  the  Fort,  I  did  not,  since  I  was 
then  living  this  story,  not  writing  it,  connect  myself,  or 
Lalun,  or  the  fat  gentleman  with  the  gold. pince-nez,  with 
his  disappearance.  Nor  did  it  strike  me  that  Wali  Dad 
was  the  man  who  should  have  convoyed  him  across  the 
City,  or  that  Lalun's  arms  round  my  neck  were  put 
there  to  hide  the  money  that  Nasiban  gave  to  Khem 
Singh,  and  that  Lalun  had  used  me  and  my  white  face 
as  even  a  better  safeguard  than  Wali  Dad  who 
proved  himself  so  untrustworthy.  All  that  I  knew  at 
the  time  was  that,  when  Fort  Amara  was  taken  up  with 
the  riots,  Khem  Singh  profited  by  the  confusion  to  get 
away,  and  that  his  two  Sikh  guards  also  escaped. 

But  later  on  I  received  full  enlightenment ;  and  so  did 
Khem  Singh.  He  fled  to  those  who  knew  him  in  the 
old  days,  but  many  of  them  were  dead  and  more  were 
changed,  and  all  knew  something  of  the  Wrath  of  the 
Government.  He  went  to  the  young  men,  but  the 
glamour  of  his  name  had  passed  away,  and  they  were 
entering  native  regiments  of  Government  offices,  and 
Khem  Singh  could  give  them  neither  pension,  decora- 
tions, nor  influence  —  nothing  but  a  glorious  death  with 
their  backs  to  the  mouth  of  a  gun.  He  wrote  letters 
and  made  promises,  and  the  letters  fell  into  bad  hands, 
and  a  wholly  insignificant  subordinate  officer  of  Police 
tracked  them  down  and  gained  promotion  thereby. 
Moreover,  Khem  Singh  was  old,  and  anise-seed  brandy 
was  scarce,  and  he  had  left  his  silver  cooking-pots  IP 


ON  THE  CITY  WALL  325 

Fort  Amara  with  his  nice  warm  bedding,  and  the  gentle- 
man with  the  gold  pince-nez  was  told  by  those  who  had 
employed  him  that  Khem  Singh  as  a  popular  leader  was 
not  worth  the  money  paid. 

'  Great  is  the  mercy  of  these  fools  of  English ! '  said 
Khem  Singh  when  the  situation  was  put  before  him. 
4 1  will  go  back  to  Fort  Amara  of  my  own  free  will  and 
gain  honour.  Give  me  good  clothes  to  return  in.' 

So,  at  his  own  time,  Khem  Singh  knocked  at  the 
wicket-gate  of  the  Fort  and  walked  to  the  Captain  and 
the  Subaltern,  who  were  nearly  gray-headed  on  account 
of  correspondence  that  daily  arrived  from  Simla  marked 
1  Private.' 

4 1  have  come  back,  Captain  Sahib,'  said  Khem  Singh. 
'  Put  no  more  guards  over  me.  It  is  no  good  out 
yonder.' 

A  week  later  I  saw  him  for  the  first  time  to  my 
knowledge,  and  he  made  as  though  there  were  an 
understanding  between  us. 

4  It  was  well  done,  Sahib,'  said  he,  '  and  greatly  I 
admired  your  astuteness  in  thus  boldly  facing  the 
troops  when  I,  whom  they  would  have  doubtless  torn 
to  pieces,  was  with  you.  Now  there  is  a  man  in  Fort 
Ooltagarh  whom  a  bold  man  could  with  ease  help  to 
escape.  This  is  the  position  of  the  Fort  as  I  draw  it  on 
the  sand ' 

But  I  was  thinking  how  I  had  become  Lalun's  Vizier 
after  all. 


THE  NEW  ARMY 

B?_Rudyard  Kipling 


This  was  a  cantonment  one  had 
never  seen  before,  and  the  gray- 
haired  military  policeman  could  give 
no  help. 

"My  experience.."  he  spoke  detach- 
ably,   is   that 'you'll  find   everything 
everywhere.      Is    it    any    particular 
corps  you're  looking  for?" 
"Not  in  the-  least,"  I  said. 
"Then  you're  all  right.    You  can't 
miss  getting  something."  He  pointed 
generally  to  the  North  Camp.     "It's 
like  floods  in  a  town,  isn't  it?" 

He  had  hit  just  the  word.-  All 
known  marks  in  the  place  were  sub- 
merged by.  troops.  Parade-grounds 
to  their  utmost  limits  were  crowded 
with  them;  rises  and  skylines  were 
furred  with  them;  and  -the  whole 
lengdn  of  the  roads  heaved  and  rip- 
pled like  bicycle  chains  with  blocks 
of  men  on  the  move. 

The  voice  of  a  sergeant  in  the  tor- 
ment reserved  for  sergeants  at  roll 
call  boomed  across  a  bunker.  He 
was  calling-over  recruits  to  a  special- 
ist-corps. 

'But    I've    called   you    once,"    he 
snapped  at  a  man  in  leggings. 

"But  I'm  Clarke.  Two,"  was  the 
virtuous  reply. 

"Oh,  you  are,  are  you?"  He  pen- 
:iled  the  correction  with  a  scornful 
mouth,  out  of  one  corner  of  which 


he  added,  "  'Sloppy'  Clarke !    You're 

all  Clarkes  or  Watsons  to-day.    You 

don't  know  your  own  names.     You 

don't   know   what    corps    you're    in 

(This  was  bitterly  unjust,  for  they  

were  squinting  up  at  a  biplane.)     You  don't  know».anything." 
"Mm !"  said  the  military  policeman.     "The  more  a  man 

has  in  his  head,  the  harder  it  is  for  him  to  manage  his  car 

—at  first.     I'm  glad  I  never  was  a  sergeant.     Listen  to  the 

instructors!     Like  rooks,  isn't  it?" 

There  was  half  a  mile  of  sergeants  and  instructor?,  ya 
by  company  officers,  all  at  work  on  the  ready  material  umK -r 
their  hands.     They   grunted,   barked,  yapped,   expostulated 
and,  in  rare  cases,  purred  as  the  lines  broke  and  formed  and 
wheeled  over  the  vast  maidan. 

When  companies  numbered  off  one  eould  hear  the  tone 
and  accent  of  even,'-  walk  in  life,  and  maybe  half  the  counties 
of  England,  from  the  deep^throated  "Woon"  of  the  North  to 
the  sharp,  half-whistled  Devonshire  "Tu."  And  as  the  in- 
structors labored,  so  did  the  men — with  a  passion  to  learn  a- 
passionately  as  they  were  taught. 

A  Soldier's  Sore  Toe 

Presently  in  the  drift  of  the  fpot  traffic  down  the  road 
there  came  another  gray-haired  man,  one  foot  in  a  gray  slip- 
per, which  showed  he  was  an  old  soldier  cherishing  a  sore 
toe.  He  drew  alongside  and  considered  these  zealous 
myriads. 

"Good?"  said  I,  deferentially. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Very  good"— 'then  half  to  himself— 
"quite  different,  though."  A  pivot  man  close  to  us  had 
shiiud  a  little  instead  of  marking  time  on  the  wheel.  His 
face  clouded,  his  lips  moved.  Obviously  he  was  cursing  his 
own  clumsiness. 

"That's  what  I  meant/'  said  the  veteran.  "Innocent!  In- 
nocent! Mark  you,  they  ain't  doin'  it  to  be  done  with  it  and 
get  off.  They're  doin'  it  because — because  they  want  to  do 
it." 

"Wake  up!  Wake  up  there,  Issherwood!"  This  was  a 
young  subaltern's  reminder  at  a  back  which  straightened 
itself.  That  one  human  name  coming  up  out  of  all  that  maze 
of  impersonal  maneuvering  stuck  in  the  memory. 


"An"  it  wasn't  'ardly  even  necessary  to  caution  Mister 
Issherwood,"  my  companion  commented.  "Prob'bly  he's  bit- 
terly ashamed  of  'imself." 

I  asked  a  leading  question  because  the  old  soldier  told 
me  that  when  his  toe  was  sound  he,  too,  was  a  military  po- 
liceman. 

"Crime?  Crime!"  said  he.  "They  don't  know  what 
crime  is — that  lot  don't — none  of  'em!"  He  mourned  over 
them  like  a  benevolent  old  Satan  looking  into  a  busy  Eden, 
and  his  last  word  was  "Innocent !" 

The  car  worked  her  way  through  miles  of  men — men 
route-marching,  or  going  to  dig  or  build  bridges,  or  wrestle 
with  stores  and  transport — four  or  five  miles  of  men,  and 
every  man  with  eager  eyes. 

No  Music 

There  was  no  music — not  even  drums  and  fifes.  I  heard 
nothing  but  a  distant  skirl  of  the  pipes.  Trust  a  Scot  to  get 
his  national  weapon  as  long  as  there  is  a  chief  in  the  North ! 
Admitting  that  war  is  a  serious  business,  specially  to  the  man 
who  is  being  fought  for,  and  that  it  may  be  right  to  carry  a 
long  face  and  contribute  to  relief  funds  which  should  be  laid 
on  the  National  Debt,  it  surely  could  do  no  harm  to  cheer 
the  men  with  a  few  bands.  Half  the  money  spent  in  treating, 
for  example. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

There  was  a  moor  among  woods  with  a.  pond  in  a  hol- 
low, the  center  of  a  world  of  tents  whose  population  was 
'North-Country.  One  heard  it  from  far  off. 

"Yo'  mun  trail  t'  pick  an'  t'  rifle  at  t'  same  time.  Try 
a?ain,"  said  an  instructor. 

* 

An  isolated  company  tried  again  with  set  seriousness, 
and  yet  again.  They  were  used  to  the  pick — won  their  living 
by  it,  in  fact — and  so,  favored  it  more  than  the  rifle;  but 
miners  don't  carry  picks  at  the  trail  by  instinct,  though  they 
can  twiddle  ^  rifle  as  one  twiddles  a  walking  stick. 
They  were  clad  in  a  blue  garb  that 

disguised    all    contours;     yet    their 

shoulders,  backs  and  loins  could  not 

be   altogether    disguised,    and   these 

were  beautiful  to  see. 

Another  company,  at  physical  drill, 

in  shirt  and  trousers,  showed  what 

superb  material  had  offered  itself  to 

be  worked  upon  and  how  much  poise 

and  directed  strength  had  been  added 

to    that   material   in   the   past   three, 

months. 


Man  and  the  Clothes 


When  the  New  Army  gets  all  its 
new  uniform  it  will  gaze  at  itself  like 
a  new  Narcissus.  But  the  present  kit 
is  indescribable.  That  is  why,  Eng- 
lish-fashion, it  has  been  made  honor- 
able by  its  'wearers ;  our  world  in 
the  years  to  come  will  look  back 
with  reverence  as  well  as  affection  on 
those  blue  slops  and  that  blasting 
cap. 

One  far-seeing  commandant,  who 
had  special  facilities,  has  possessed 
himself  of  brass  buttons,  thousands 
of  'em,  which  he  has  added  to  his 
men's  outfit  for  the  moral  effect  of 

(a)  having  something  to  clean  and 

(b)  of  keeping.it  so.     It  has  paid. 

JB  The  smartest  regiment  in  the  serv- 
ice could  not  do  itself  justice  in  such 
garments,  but  I  managed  to  get  a 
view  of  a  battalion,  coming  from  a 
walk,  at  a  distance  which  more  or 
less  subdued  the  — er — uniform,  and 
they  moved  with  the  elastic  swing 
and  little  quick-ripple  that  means  so 
much. 

A  miner  is  not  supposed  to  be  as 
good  a  marcher  as  a  townsman,  but 

_^,^,, „...  _^_  when  he  gets  set  to  time  and  pace  and 

learns  the  economy  of  effort,  his  developed  back  and  shoulder 
muscles  take  him  along  very  handsomely.  Another  battalion 
fell  in  for  parade  while  I  watched  again  at  a  distance.  They 
came  to  hand  quietly  and  collectedly  enough,  and  with  only 
tliat  amount  of  pressing  which  is  due  to  a  fear  of  being  late. 
A  platoon — or  whatever  they  call  it — was  giving  the  whole 
of  its  attention  to^  its  signaling  instructors  with  the  air  of 
men  resolved  on  getting  the  last  flicker  of  the  last  cinem;i- 
iilm  for  their  money.  Crime  in  the  military  sense  they  do  not 
know  any  more  than  their  fellow-innocents  up  the  road. 


No  Shams  Here 

It  is  hopeless  to  pretend  to  be  other  than  what  one  is  he- 
cause  one's  soul  in  this  life  is  as  exposed  as  one's  body.  It  is 
futile  to  tell  civilian  lies — there  are  no  civilians  to  listen — and 
they  have  not  yet  learned  to  tell  Service  ones  without  being 
detected. 

It  is  useless  to  sulk  at  any  external  condition  of  affairs, 
because  the  rest  of  the  world  with  which  a  man  is  concerned 
is  facing  those  idential  conditions.  There  is  neither  poverty 
nor  riches,  nor  any  possibility  of  pride,  except  in  so  far  as 
one  may  do  one's  task  a  little  better  than  one's  mate. 

In  the  point  of  food  they  are  extremely  well  looked  after, 
quality  and  quantity,  wet  canteen  and  dry.  Drafts  come  in  all 
around  the  clock,  and  they  have -to  be  fed;  late  guards  and 
sentries  want  something  hot  at  odd  times,  and  the  big  mar- 
quee canteen  is  the  world's  gathering  place  where  food,  life's 
first  interest  to  a  man  in  hard  work,  is  thoroughly  discussed. 
They  can  get  outside  of  a  vast  o'  vittle.  Thus,  a  contractor 
who  delivers  ten  thousand  rations  a  day  stands,'  by  deputy 
at  least,  in  the  presence  of  just  that  number  of  rather  fit,  long, 
deep  men.  They  are  what  is  called  "independent" — a  civilian 
weakness  which  they  will  learn. to  blush  over  in  a  few  months, 
and  to  discourage  among  later  recruits ;  but  they  are  also  very 
quick  to  pick  up  dodges  and  tricks  that  make  a  man  more 
comfortable  in  camp  life,  and  their  domestic  routine  runs 
on  wheels. 

A  New  World  Without  Woman 

It  must  have  been  hard  at  first  for  civilians  to  see  the 
necessity  for  that  continuous  apparently  pernickety  house- 
maiding  and  "following-up"  which  is  vital  to  the  comfort  of 
large  bodies  of  men  in  confined  quarters. 

In  civil  life  men  leave  these  things  to  their  women-folk, 
but  where  women  are  not,  officers,  inspecting  tents,  feet  and 
such  like,  develop  a  she-side  to  their  head,  and  evidently  make 
non-coms  and  men  develop  it,  too.  A  good  soldier  is  always 
;i  bit  of  an  old  maid.  But  as  I  heard  a  private  say  to  a  ser- 
geant, in  the  matter  of  some  kit  chucked  into  a  corner:  "Yo' 
canna  keep  owt  redd  up  ony  proper  road  on  a  sand-hill." 
To  whom  his  superior  officer:  "Ah  know  yo'  canna',  but  yo' 
mun  try,  Billy." 


And  Heaven  knows  they  are  trying  hard  enough — men, 
non-coms  and  officers — with  all  the  masked  and  undervoiced 
effort  of  our  peoples  when  we  are  really  at  work.  They  stand 
at  the  very  beginning  of  things ;  creating  out  of  chaos,  meet- 
ing emergencies  as  they  arise ;  handicapped  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  overcoming  every  handicap  by  simple  good-will, 
humor,  self-sacrifice,  common  sense  and  such  trumpery  vir- 
tues. 

I  watched  their  faces  in  the  camp;  and  at  lunch  looked 
down  a  line  of  some  twenty  men  in  the  mess-tent,  wondering 
how  many  would  survive  to  see  the  full  splendor  and  signifi- 
cance of  the  work  here  so  nobly  begun.  But  they  were  not 
interested  in  the  future  beyond  their  next  immediate  job. 
They  ate  quickly  and  went  out  to  it,  and  by  the  time  I  drove 
away  again  I  was  overtaking  their  battalions  on  the  road. 
Not  unrelated  units  lugged  together  for  foot-slogging,  but 
real  battalions,  of  a  spirit  in  themselves  which  defied  even  the 
blue  slops — wave  after  wave  of  proper  men  with  undistracted 
eyes  who  never  talked  a  word  about  any  war.  But  not  a 
note  of  music — and  they  were  North-Countrymen! 


RETURN 
TO     ^                                  COLLEGE  LIBRARY,  UCLA 

LOAN  PERIOD   1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

°56fl^7W(tiAY 

Z&WTg  14UAY 

->  /  FF(V?q  RECCl 

21  JAN  '80    14  C 

4    FEB*80   14  DAY 

SFEB'60 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  LOS  ANGELES,  CA.  90024 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     001  168  289     5 


UCLA-College  Library 

PR  4854  S68  1899 


L  005  713  724  2 


